


Unconditionally

by Macx



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anchors, Developing Relationship, Elemental Magic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Harry is the most stubborn man in existence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychic Bond, Revelations, Shield bond, so not canon-compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 91,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24073849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: There had been a strange connection between them right from the start. Not because of the soulgaze either. It was something else. Something that had started shortly before their physical meeting and then gathered speed.John Marcone had been aware of it on some level. Harry himself had simply ignored the Marcone-shaped elephant in the room. He was good at ignoring things of a more personal nature, even if it were things of a magical, wizard-related nature.But in the end things became really dicey. Primal-magic-apocalyptically-bad.Or in Bob's words: "You look up stubborn in a dictionary and you get the kid’s picture. With a side note that says ‘John Marcone’. Oh, and don't get this wrong: he's not about to tear apart. This out there? That's him already torn to pieces and clinging on to the last shreds of what he is because he's such a tenacious bastard.”
Relationships: Harry Dresden/John Marcone
Comments: 207
Kudos: 298





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am, right back in another small fandom with little knowledge of the canon lore and stuff. It's my life. I thrive on a challenge, it seems.
> 
> I read Storm Front about fifteen years ago and never got into the whole book. First person narratives were so not my thing to read at the time (still not my favorite, unless it's a cozy mystery) and aside from leaving me horribly confused, the book did nothing for me. So that's all I ever read.
> 
> Then the TV series came out. I really liked it, sue me. I was disappointed that it ended after twelve episodes.  
> It was when I first started to read fanfic and fell head over heels into Marcone/Dresden. 
> 
> Now, many, many years later, with quarantine making me stir-crazy and my brain turning into a weird place, I decided to finally delve into scenes I've had bouncing around my cranium and to write them out of sheer self-preservation instinct.
> 
> Here! Have at it! 
> 
> Horribly AU from here on out.  
> Horribly, horribly so…  
> Please don't eat me alive or pull out the flame-throwers!

The world outside was dark, foreboding, a mass of too black, too alive, churning clouds, unnaturally liquid rain and razor-sharp gusty wind. The abnormal weather banged against the windows, rattled the frames, strange hail sometimes interspersing drops. In the distance thunder rumbled and lightning added to the horror movie cliché setting.

But this wasn't a movie. Far from it. This was a world outside Harry Dresden's apartment. To be more precise: it was a world outside his lab. His basement lab.

His normally windowless basement lab.

John Marcone, business man and head of a very well-known criminal organization based in Chicago, regarded the unexpected sight with more calm than any vanilla mortal human should possess when confronted with raging, unnatural nature where brick walls existed in regular basements.

He also wasn't alone, but currently he was the only conscious person. Harry Dresden was out like a light and in no hurry to wake up from whatever had caused this. He lay on a bed, which had no reason being down here, wearing old jeans, an even older T-shirt, and his habitual duster. He wasn't bleeding, which was a big plus and not always normal when it came to Dresden.

Also, Marcone himself wasn't bleeding, though he felt a tension in his shoulders that was attributed to the wizard most of the time, not an attack. From the rise and fall of Dresden's chest, he was alive.

But on the downside, there was no door out of this place. Just the small lab and the bed that looked like it shouldn't be here but was, reality accommodating for it when it belonged upstairs in the bedroom. Not to forget the very much unnatural windows that showed him a world that couldn't realistically be there.

"Oh, it's there alright," a voice said almost cheerfully as he muttered those words. "Everything you see is really there."

Marcone refused to whirl around in surprise. Not much surprised him these days, least of all a voice without a body. Also, in his line of work showing any kind of inattention, any kind of fear or surprise, would be a sign of weakness.

John Marcone displayed no weaknesses. He never gave anyone any opening. At least not unless they were called Harry Dresden and managed to single-handedly annoy and fascinate him at every turn.

Still, he did reach for a weapon he wasn't wearing automatically, his muscles coiling for any kind of threat, be it mundane or supernatural. While he didn't need a gun or a knife to defend himself, Marcone liked having a weapon on him.

His eyes came to rest on a human skull.

"You're not very surprised," the skull stated. "I expected screaming. Not little girl screaming, but maybe manly squeaking."

Marcone smiled humorlessly as he slowly relaxed, though staying alert. "I should be surprised that Dresden has a talking skull? I think it's the least freakish thing I have encountered since meeting Chicago's wizard for hire. You are Bob."

"Ohhh! My fame precedes me!"

"As well as your taste in questionable literature."

Yes, Marcone had done his homework.

"Timeless classics, all of them!"

He gave the skull a wry look. "Porn."

"Romance," Bob argued.

"As I said, questionable."

"I agree to disagree."

Marcone inspected the lab, especially the corner with the bed. It stood out and tried to blend in at the same time. It clearly wasn't part of the original lay-out, but right now, due to whatever, it was here. Then his eyes were on the windows that showed the storm outside again. Not what one would expect in a sub-basement.

"So this is real," he stated.

"Real, surreal, unreal… bleh. It depends on your point of view and your current standing on magical equivalents of a supernova. But yeah, it's there. It's what's all around us at the moment."

"Magical supernova?"

"Big kaboom. That's what you see out there. Pure elemental magic. The purest of the pure. Without a vessel or container. Absolutely deadly and very, very wild." Bob sounded very much appreciative and just a little bit in awe.

Marcone pursed his lips. "Harry," he muttered.

"Two for two."

"This isn't an illusion."

"You're good. Got any more?"

Marcone approached the supposed window, tracking the churning clouds. There were no buildings, no trees, just barren landscape and the storm raging everywhere. Everything looked… strange. The clouds were too viscous, the landscape too sharp and then again not sharp enough. The lightning felt wrong. Like someone trying out special effects and getting them all upside down and inside out.

"Pocket dimension?"

"Nah. Sorry. Your lucky streak just ended. The House wins."

He turned to look at Bob, eyes narrowing a little.

"Okay, okay, it is a pocket, but not really a different dimension. It's more of a… bubble anyway. Pulling stuff together, like half of Dresden's bedroom, and most of his lab. Keeping us inside and reality outside. Nifty, really. Probably a bit hastily cobbled together due to whatever happened to him, but Harry's good even at his worst. It's all insane and lethal, absolutely a no-go in the magical world, but it has its merits."

"It is keeping something out and us protected?"

"Ah, there you go," Bob lauded. "Back on the road to the jackpot."

Marcone was silent, mind whirling, thoughts racing.

"Aaaand," Bob declared cheerfully, "it's not that far from what the Nevernever really is. Something attached to other realities at specific points and so on. Just flipped. You know how time passes differently there?"

He inclined his head. He had had the misfortune to lose days instead of the perceived hours while visiting over a treaty aspect. Marcone was convinced the fae had done it on purpose, like a prank only they found funny, hazing the new Freeholding Lord on the block, and he hadn't made the same mistake again.

He was a business man. He did his homework and if he failed to take a small part into account, he would do it much better, more detailed, and absolutely binding the next time.

Unless dealing with Dresden, who was following no rules and had a blatant disregard for them on a good day.

"Same here, just the other way around and probably with a lot less side-effects."

"Translation," Marcone demanded.

"I wouldn't be able to define it exactly, since Harry's never gone magically kaboom before, but I suspect the world outside has no clue what's going on in here. They're frozen, we are moving. Nobody will miss us."

And since he had been in his office, at home, going over reports, he hadn't been in anyone's company. Gard and Hendricks had retired for the night and he suspected no alarm had been raised.

"Because of the time difference." He nodded to himself and walked over to Dresden's silent form. "What is he protecting himself from?"

"Not just himself. You, too."

Dark brows rose. "And you?"

"I'm just along for the ride. Couldn't really scram. No arms, no legs, you see."

Marcone studied the skull with keen interest. "What are you?"

"Probably the only true friend he has, hence the protection."

"A skull."

"I'm an air spirit of intellect!"

"In a skull."

"Yeah, well."

"Is there a reason?"

"That's on a need to know basis."

"And I don't need to know?" John finished the well-known sentence, lips curling into a brief smile.

"Exactly. You catch on fast, grasshopper."

The smile widened. Marcone let his eyes roam the room, Harry's lab, his current prison and safe house in one. Their safe house.

"Since you are here with him and me, you are important to him."

"Ohhhh. Like you?"

He gave the skull a pointed look, meeting the orange glow deep within the eye sockets.

Bob sniggered. "Yeah, like you. He trusts you. Not that he would say it out loud and he would deny it to his last breath."

"I concur."

"You don't look it, but you're the least likeliest person to backstab him or sell him out. Everyone else has one way or another. Even over little things."

"I consider him… an asset."

Bob snorted again, this time sounding amused. "Oh, you consider him more than that. Though the word 'ass' features into it, too."

Marcone's eyes narrowed and Bob cackled.

"Yeah, I so figured that one out right from the start. Not that he would listen. Harry's… a bit stubborn."

"Only a bit?"

"On a good day."

John gestured at the thunderstorm outside. "I wouldn't call this a good day."

Bob was silent, teeth clicking briefly. Marcone looked at the ancient skull.

"Not a good day," the air spirit murmured. "But you're here," he added, perking up a bit. "Which means we have a chance to get out of this alive."

Marcone blinked. "Explain."

"Well, you see, this out there… that's Harry. All of it. His magic. Not just what he can materialize with a spell… That's him."

John stared at the churning darkness. "How?" he asked pragmatically.

"That's your only question? Not how you got here in the first place? Mind you, I would have been asking that the moment I found myself in a basement with a view of the abyss of hell."

He raised his eyebrows at the skull, a mild smile crossing his lips. “I have known Mr. Dresden for a while now. Nothing is impossible with him."

"Hn. No wonder he wants you. In a magical and also really not so magical way. You know, carnal pleasure and such? Writhing bodies and lusty groans? Bunga-bunga?"

Marcone's brows rose again. Bob waited for a few heartbeats, then sighed explosively from non-existent lungs.

"Tough crowd. Okay. Right. You want to know how this happened. The last straw and the camel's back? Ring a bell?"

"This was triggered by something that forced him into a defense of these immense proportions?"

"Bingo! Give the man a cigar!"

"With us inside."

"Looks like it."

Marcone pursed his lips, going through all kinds of scenarios he had been part of, those he had read reports of, those he had heard about, and he knew that to get Dresden into this kind of defense, it had been catastrophic.

"Who attacked him?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. The Winter Queen? Summer? The White Council? Some warlock? Some vampire plan? Some unholy alliance? Gods, angels, demons? Maybe just a spat with Murphy, or Mac selling out of his favorite ale? All of it culminating in one unrelated incident setting this off? Take a pick!"

Marcone's lips thinned, eyes taking on a cold, hard sheen. "Mr. Dresden has a talent to end up in the worst situations."

"He has many. Mostly to piss off people. And people always want a piece of him."

"I have always wondered about that," John said conversationally as he inspected the lab without touching a single thing. He knew to keep his hands off magical artifacts. "Yes, he is an unconventional wizard and he pokes at the hornets' nest with abundance, but to this day I would consider his actions more along the lines of a stern talking to and a slap on the wrist offense."

Bob stared at him for a long moment, then laughed. A deep, clearly amused laugh. "Oh, you are priceless, Johnny-boy! Now I know why he likes the hair-pulling and squabbling!"

He gave the skull a bland look, refusing to be baited. "Mr. Dresden has an incredible talent to piss off the wrong people. He plays with fire, consciously or unconsciously. He knows no boundaries."

"And he just happens to be on everyone's shit list ever since broke the First Law of Magic and was then declared not guilty, so that's something. Some took that more personally than others, always hounding him, just waiting for the kid to make a mistake."

Marcone knew some of that. He liked to investigate the people he was interested in, especially wizards who had set up home in his city and who sometimes laid waste to his property.

"The White Council didn't know just what they had on their hands until some gangly teen wizard killed an Outsider and then his teacher. That's when Harry was on their radar."

He rested his eyes on the still unconscious wizard in question. Still young, still unrefined, like a battering ram where only a key was needed, but learning fast.

"Dresden leans more toward the quick and dirty kind of blasting than refinement. But he could sink this city if he wants to, if he puts his mind to it," Bob went on happily. "And he could take over the White Council, eradicate their dusty old asses, or become the darkest of dark wizards out there. Not that he has such ambitions. Luckily."

Yes. Luckily. John looked at the man in question. Harry Dresden, dark wizard or warlock supreme, didn't really fit with what the man was, what he stood for.

"He could lose himself in what he has, dig deep, release it, and step over bodies. He could probably cut off the Nevernever from all realms. All the big shots could, though they're too chicken to do it. Might lose them their power base. You have no idea what some of them meddle in."

Oh, but Marcone could imagine. He had looked into some very deep and dark places.

"He's growing into that power." He nodded to himself.

He knew how young Harry was in the eyes of the supernatural. Magic-users tended to grow very old and Harry, despite being in his mid-thirties now, was just beginning that life.

John had also known the man was powerful. Not just a brutish brawler. Not just a one-time hitter. He held a lot of magic, but he didn't have all too much finesse. He could level a building and barely be out of breath. The moment he had that fine motor-skill, he would be an incredible opponent for any kind of threat or challenge. The air spirit had confirmed it.

"Yes." Bob shifted again. "Yes, he is growing. Some reach a limit and never go past it; can't go past it. Dresden's on a different track. His focus is really getting good. He's learning faster, grows more and more, but he hasn't stepped past that perceived limit. It's kinda like navigating a narrow road. Get off track and you might end up in the really pitch-black dark. Maneuver past that narrow stretch and the whole world is your magical oyster."

John found his own musings confirmed. "You keep astounding me, Harry Dresden."

"Yep." Bob was almost bouncing in his place on the shelf. "You think the Leanansidhe comes to the rescue of just any pimply wizard's apprentice? Sure, those fae love their deals and debts, but she knew what she was tapping there."

Marcone studied the display of primal magic. "That."

"Yep. That. Vast, untamed, elemental magic. It's all around us and just a few wizards can reach it."

"Like Mr. Dresden."

"He could. Big difference. He can become a real heavyweight, right up there with the big shots, if he steps over the threshold without somersaulting into the pits. People and not-people have tried to control him, coerce him to their side, or plain outright wanted him collared and tamed."

John frowned at the open words, eyes narrowing, mouth becoming a thin line. He knew how many, very dangerous encounters Harry had had over the years. He had formed strange, sometimes almost lethal alliances, and it had made the man as attractive as he was dangerous in Marcone's eyes. Everything he was, all the different aspects of his being, made up a complex man with too many facets to understand easily, but to John's knowledge he had never been dangerous enough to threaten the Sidhe Courts or the wizarding world. At least he didn't have the mindset for world conquest.

"You think he wants to be the Winter Knight and serve the Winter Court?" Bob went on, on a roll, and there were emotions bleeding into his voice that gave John more than a clue. "Nope. Big, fat nope. You think he wants to be warden? Run around as the executioner of a Council that had ordered him to be taken out at an early age should he so much as twitch toward dark magic? You think he wants to look over his shoulder in a fight, just in case one of the so-called good guys stabs him in the back? Literally?"

Marcone's tension skyrocketed with every word, with every scenario, confirming what he had learned himself in the past, what had been told to him through various sources. He wasn't innocent in those scenarios. He had pursued his own agenda and sometimes Dresden was in the way or made himself a bigger nuisance than he was on other days. Their clashes, when they happened, were mostly over how to proceed and how to deal with matters that concerned them both. Harry despised what Marcone stood for and Marcone didn't real feel inclined to accommodate a bruised ego. Not to mention that holding back information had become a game to them.

But he had never stood back to let anyone take a piece out of Dresden if he could help it. Right down to setting his people on the wizard, keeping him under observation, and taking out what Harry had been too blind to see as a threat.

"The Council still wants him dead?" he now asked, voice cutting and cold.

He had dealt with them before. He knew they were ruthless and quite set in their ways when it came to dealing with anything outside their comfort zone. Like Baron John Marcone of Chicago. He would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy rubbing that under their noses and ticking them off with his mundane human presence.

"Which one?" Bob snapped, real anger starting to mirror in his voice. "Black, white, grey? Any other color this side of the rainbow? You think they're happy he's running around and interfering with their plans? Their little war plans and takeover attempts? And the Sidhe? You think the Leanansidhe's joking about wanting him as her hound? She'd be delighted to siphon his power, to rub it under anyone's nose, maybe use him as a tool to instigate a takeover war of her own. Harry's power, Marcone. A lot of power. As for the White Council? They are just waiting for him to screw up. They hate and fear him, they want to control him, have him under their thumbs, and since they can't, they've done everything to keep him in line. Their line. Their narrow, never-so-much-as-toe-it line. Hence making him warden. Just another title with a collar and chain attached. Harry's been stripped of everything he could be every step of the way. His alliances? They hate that, too. He's best buds with some really scary things, not to mention he has allies among some of the most powerful."

He let the angry waterfall of words wash over him, impressed by the air spirit's loyalty expressed in is emotional reaction. Harry wasn't the first master he served, but he clearly held his loyalty in a way most others could not have ever achieved.

"Like you?"

"Meh. They wouldn't classify me as more than a walking, talking, skull-rocking archive."

"You are an air spirit," Marcone said calmly. "I wouldn't call that a mere archive. You hold power. He has your loyalty."

"I'm bound to serve him."

Marcone smirked. "It's more than that. You serve him with your knowledge, but you are also loyal. Hard to find in any powerful elemental spirit."

Bob shifted his skull a little, the pin-point lights flickering. "The kid grows on you," he muttered.

John chuckled wryly. "A mortal?"

"From everyone I was bound to serve, Harry provides the best entertainment," was the flippant answer.

Marcone let it go with that. He had drawn his own conclusions, adding to the complex, fascinating puzzle that was Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden.

"I see. So Harry has always been under a lot of scrutiny and pressure, while also throwing himself between the innocent and the worst of the supernatural. What changed now that he… lost it like that?"

"Oh, not much. Same old, same old. Running around, keeping himself in one piece, thwarting evil left and right. There was just one change in the whole equation: you were gone for a few days."

His head whipped around and he stared at Bob. Hard. "Which correlates how?"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you? You were physically not there! Not a single blip on the radar."

"I'd think he wouldn't have a problem with not seeing me."

"Eh, wrong! No cookie!"

John stared at him again, eyes chips of green ice.

Bob huffed, sounding actually amused. "Humans! You are his personal pain in the ass. His thorn in the side. The guy who brings out the worst and the best in one slick, underhanded move. He is drawn to you. He keeps circling around wherever you are, thinking no one notices just how obsessed he is with you. And I bet you are just as obsessed with him, am I right?" The last was said with a distinct leer.

Marcone's face was devoid of emotions, all shields up, so to speak, as he listened to the words. Of course they kept running into each other, Harry making a big show out of each encounter, with insults flying. And they got results. Deadly, final results.

Yes, they were good together. Yes, they got things done. Marcone on his side of the business, Harry on his own side. While Dresden despised the organization Marcone led, he also couldn't argue with the results. Or the fact that since Gentleman Johnny Marcone had taken over, Chicago was more orderly and more controlled than the decades and centuries before.

"So in case you haven't gotten it yet, you're his counterweight, Marcone. Buffer, shield, guard, barrier, verbal punching bag… you name it. I thought you'd have figured it out, seeing how often you seek him out or how often he so suspiciously involuntarily runs into you. How you forged out these laughable alliances and fight on the same side. I know Harry denies it, but you know how well you collaborate as partners."

Yes, he did, even if Harry was a massive pain. Because he was a complex, complicated man. He was brilliant in his own way, sometimes very erratic, passionate, committed, idealistic, talented, insulting, bold, incautious… and the list went on.

And he refused to make theirs a permanent partnership. The man was synonymous for headstrong and argumentative. The only time they ever saw eye to eye was when it came to saving an innocent. The moment matters calmed and Marcone's business interfered with their fledgling relationship, Harry flew off the handle and shut down completely, refusing to see the good in what a partnership could bring.

Yet, he came back. Sometimes reluctantly, sometimes with purpose.

Marcone had long since buried the idea of having a wizard on his payroll. Actually, right within the first moments of meeting Harry Dresden, after a soulgaze that had opened his eyes to who this man truly was. He had then started to entertain different ideas while teasing Dresden, alluding to a business partnership, or employment, very much enjoying how those dark eyes flared and the blood boiled.

Harry was magnificent to perceive when he battled with his magic, but he was just as alluring throughout just a simple argument. This controlled wildness was… attractive. A coiled spring, ready to be unleashed.

Addictive, really.

One reason why he protected the man. Just one of the many reasons, really. And in his mind, Dresden was his wizard, like Chicago was his city, his territory.

"He needs you," Bob interrupted his musings, continuing to drive his point home. "As a lightning rod, a sounding board, a scapegoat or just an equal in a world where he has no true friends. You saw what's inside him, Johnny-boy. You know his soul! Go figure out the rest!"

tbc...


	2. Chapter 2

Marcone studied at the unconscious man and pursed his lips. Yes, he knew what was inside Harry Dresden's soul and he would be hard-pressed to put that knowledge into words. It had been an eye-opener, to see that fire, that strength, that endless whirl of magical force, and to understand it resided inside this man. To be shown who and what he was, within a second, and still not understand it.

Dresden was raw firepower and danger; a ferocious, volatile force that ran untamed in this human shell. It was natural, elemental, and absolute. Not only was it untamed, Marcone was convinced it was also untamable.

He had been drawn to that, but not because of or for the power itself. It was something else. Something that had resonated inside him in that very moment, had hooked claws into his own soul and never let go.

Now he knew it had been the anchor effect, the connection between them.

"He has a lot of friends," he said without inflection.

"Sure. But they aren't you. He can drink with them, talk with them, brainstorm and whatever, but you're different, Johnny. You can counter his power in your own, unique way and hold up your own."

"I'm no match for him as a wizard," he stated. "I can't access magic."

Bob snorted. "Like that means anything! Freeholding Lord, big time mafia crime lord, ruthless business man…" he counted off almost happily. "But so very human, so very mortal, without a shred of supernatural zing, just… normal, and because of that the perfect choice."

"Because I don't shoot him every time he runs off his mouth or blows up one of my buildings?" he teased with momentary amusement.

"Big plus, yeah, but no. Harry knows enough mundanes. He can spend an evening bitching about you with Murphy or the Knight. But he can only even out the internal scales when he does the bitching with you. It's a release for him, Marcone! He needs it like breathing. Whoever else they put into his path in the past, he was never interested in them. At least not for more than it took for them to go bad or leave him heartbroken in a ditch."

"His relationships were manipulated?" Marcone asked, voice suddenly dropping to sharp and dangerous, picking up on that tidbit of information and following it like a bloodhound.

John Marcone might be a ruthless mob boss, had coldly weeded out the unsavory among those working for him, had taken down opponents without remorse and destroyed whole clans that had opposed him, but the idea that Harry's partners had been placed there… It made him want to tear into something and just let go. Yes, planting someone, even a romantic someone, was a political ploy. It made sense. Cold, deliberate, rational sense.

But this was Harry Dresden.

Marcone didn't take that kind of interference with his wizard all too well.

"Mostly," Bob answered blithely. "Like the good old days when the parents arranged the marriage? Two oxen and four sheep for the pretty lady?"

He gave the skull a lethal look.

"You would have fetched a unicorn, Johnny," he added with laughter.

"Thank you," was the dry reply.

"It was like a good old-fashioned dating game. Didn't work. They never had you, of all humans and supernaturals, in any equation, and no one had an idea it even could be you, the not so vanilla mortal. The man. The crime boss Dresden loves to pit his considerable wits against. His one true ally, really. You might be a cold-hearted killer, but an honorable one. You never went behind his back and betrayed him."

Marcone's brow drew down as he unraveled the words and tried to make sense of them. Dresden had had supposed friends and past lovers betray him one way or the other. He had had to make tough choices that had alienated people and pushed others away. And yet, here he was, the protector of the innocents, the guardian of this city, unbroken until now, but slightly more jaded each time. He had the mental and physical scars to prove his battles, his wins and losses, and he still walked into the fray without a second thought.

Everyone wanted a piece of him, wanted his power, wanted to shape Harry Dresden to be theirs. And Harry had fought them and still fought them off at every turn. If one of the Courts harnessed his power to their side, the scales would tip. If the Council could get him to be the perfect puppet, they would have an incredible weapon; judge, jury, executioner. Blindly following orders, without second thought, without a conscience.

Marcone refused to have such men in his organization; the puppets and drones. His men, those he chose to work for him personally, were more than mindless soldiers. They were more than met the eye. He paid them handsomely to do their job, for their loyalty, and he respected them, cared for them, and protected them and their families in turn.

"So, basically, you are his chosen one," the skull summarized. "He needs you to keep it together. He loves your little fights, even if he doth protest too much. You form a very potent combination."

"The wizard and the mundane?"

Bob hummed in agreement.

"Wouldn't a bond between two magic-users be even more potent?"

The lights in the skull's sockets flared brightly with amusement. "They would implode. Explode. Whatever. Just… a really bad combination. You don't throw two magical cores together willy-nilly in a personal, psychic shield and anchor bond. If you do, run and hope for the best. Really bad on the other side. Any side, actually."

Marcone was busy committing the information to memory, running them against what he knew about the world of the supernatural and magic.

"Psychic bonds exist in the supernatural."

"Yea-eah… kinda. Not like that."

"Shield and anchor," he repeated.

"Ten for ten. You throw a good wizard orgy, all kinda good stuff happens. Nothing against that. You can get it going with any kind of supernatural thing you fancy, sure! Nothing's blown to pieces, except maybe your brain from all the good things happening. But shield bonds? Nope! You can't make that happen with two so alike. You need the quietness of the shield and the strength of the anchor. That's you in a nutshell. Your steel-trap of a mind, your detached, calculating thoughts, and your protective instincts when it comes to our boy here."

"Not every magic-user needs such a counterbalance," John concluded, wading through the information, picking out the important things.

"Now that would be really awkward, but it makes excellent romance novel material. Google soulbonds and you find aplenty. Some really nice stuff there. In reality it's the really extreme cases of serious, serious firepower the White Council doesn't want to touch with a very long stick. Kinda like Merlin and Arthur."

"Ah. I see."

"Doubtful."

He shot the skull a look. "The original Merlin was, to this date, the most powerful wizard in history, able to access and control primal elemental magic. He founded the White Council."

"You read up on your history. Good for you."

Marcone's brain was still in overdrive, delivering facts and drawing conclusions. "If Arthur was Merlin's shield, they were bound together. Merlin grew to a very ripe old age, which means so did Arthur. Otherwise such a connection wouldn't make much sense. Not to mention no one knows if Merlin has actually died or just decided to vanish from the eyes of the magical world."

Bob made a non-committal sound.

Alright.

"His successors, the Merlins of the White Council, died and a new one took their place. None had a significant other."

"Okay, yes, you're good. No wonder Harry likes you. For more than your mind, I have to say." The leer was clear to hear.

"What about the current Merlin?"

"Langtry's a bit of an odd duck. He's no light-weight, actually more powerful than all the others before him, and he can do freaky stuff." Bob sighed. "He has a kind of anchor-shield-thing going. You don't want to know. It's creepy." The skull shook itself.

"I take your word for it." He fell silent, only the sound of the storm and the rumble of thunder around them. Fire, water, air and earth. All the elements raging outside, manifesting one after the other or together. "So I am his counterbalance," he stated, slotting knowledge away, already making notes to follow up on certain matters. "His shield and anchor; completely without magic."

"Like I said, he's at his best when he's working with you."

Yes, they were good together. Harry challenged him, and to understand that he brought out not only the fiery temper but so much more in Dresden was… rewarding. They had come a long way from their first meeting and Marcone's opinion had changed a few times when it came to Chicago's wizard, but the fundamentals had always been there. A foundation of their working relationship, of a trust growing slowly but steadily, of forming brief but successful alliances, until brief had become steady and temporary wasn't a word he would use for what they were doing. Nor did alliance really fit anymore.

It was a relationship. Business and pleasure; private. They knew too much about the other, and as Harry had unraveled what he had seen inside Marcone's soul, so had John when it came to this man.

"He's grown rapidly magically ever since that soulgaze, y'know," the skull went on conversationally. "Really grown. From wildly using magic like a baseball bat to the face, to actually focusing and refining what he has, thinking about battle moves and incantations. And his shielding has gone up so many notches, I think it broke the sound barrier."

"Because of me."

"Don't let it go to your head, Johnny, but yes, because of you. Nothing what you did or said. Just because you're there."

"The soulgaze initiated the connection?"

"Nah. Too complicated. All it needed was you being there physically. In this city, around him. Would have been more fun in my eyes to add a little sexy bonding time, but hey, that's for romance novels and trashy movies. Not that sexy times wouldn't help. Say all you want about sex magic, this is a component that always sticks." The light in one eye socket winked off, then on again. "Sex is always on the table."

Marcone was silent, face unreadable, as he let the words sink in. All of this had been there all along and he wouldn't have known about it if not for whatever had broken Harry's back, so to speak.

"This basic shield connection has been there for years," he said out loud.

"Yes again."

"And he didn't feel it?"

Bob sighed. "We already asserted that he's stubborn, right? You look up stubborn in a dictionary and you get the kid’s picture. With a side note that says ‘John Marcone’. Oh, and don't get this wrong: he's not about to tear apart. This out there? That's him already torn to pieces and clinging on to the last shreds of what he is because he's such a tenacious bastard.”

John's face was a mask, drawn tight, lips a thin line. He tapped is fingers against one pant leg. This was bad. Last day, end of the world bad.

"If that stuff out there gets really lose?" Bob shivered. "It'll be all kinds of catastrophic. Wild elemental magic is no joking matter."

"No one can perceive it?"

"Possibly? Not sure how the old gits are with primal releases. Well, the non-fun ones. Not sure they know what fun in the sack is anyway."

"Bob."

It got him a huff. "Right now I wouldn't bet on any cavalry coming to save our fluffy behinds. You are the cavalry, Johnny."

"I see."

He was silent for a long time, turning it all over and over in his head, still trying to slot a lot of things into place.

"Neither of us had a say?" Which was disturbing and interesting in one. Marcone hated not to be in control, especially when magic was involved.

"Kinda… not?" Bob hedged. "I mean, if Harry wasn't such a contrary ass he would have noticed sooner. He keeps approaching his own perceived threshold and he could just jump over it -- if he let go. If he dragged the sub-conscious knowledge into the open. You can't just switch this off or hope it goes away. It's there. It's been there for ages. Tag, you're it! That's how it is. Because you fit. Wouldn't work otherwise. So you didn't have a say per se, but unless he came out and told you," the skull sniggered, "well, you would be none the wiser. Until maybe in a decade or two. You'd find not growing older a little weird maybe."

Marcone lifted a corner of his mouth. "Yes, that might be weird. So I am his perceived balance, the lightning-rod to his temper, and my physical absence triggered this display?" he came back to the current situation and gestured at the raging forces outside their little safe haven.

The storm hadn't quieted down and there was something that sounded suspiciously like hail beating against a roof that had no right to be there. The windows were showing only darkness that moved like a living liquid. The eerie, howling sound was muted.

"Nah, don't give yourself too much credit, Johnny. You weren't the trigger. Harry's a big boy in that regard, though how big is for you to find out," Bob added with a leer. "Lots of things piled on and something finally snapped. He might normally have gone off to tear you a new one over whatever Harry thinks you did, or didn't, might have done or could be planning, but alas, you weren't there. Not to mention that he kinda pined over your absence. So normally he would blow off some steam, call you colorful names, and be done with it. Didn't work this time. I think he finally realized he can't keep going on as he has before. Deep down inside he knows there's something between you two that he needs to fess up to."

It had been necessary business. A few days away. Nothing big. Nothing he hadn't done before. He would have preferred to stay in his city, but he had obligations, too.

"Whatever set him off in this downward spiral, it might have been just something teensy-weensy. No Big Bad involved. Harry finally went kaboom. Not in a dark way; just… he turned himself inside out and is about to turn into a million Harry-shaped pieces."

More and more things clicked into place. Sharply. Lightning fast. With a finality that should shock lesser mortals, but John Marcone was far from being lesser on a good day. Actually, it somehow confirmed so many things and finalized many more.

Should he have expected this to happen? Accounting for his total lack in pertinent information, no. Accounting for his relations and relationship with one Harry Dresden, very much so.

"And now I'm here, in his basement, with a talking skull, locked inside… manifested elemental primal magic. He brought me here instinctively because he's about to tear apart. I'm the safety line to access all of that and not fall off the tightwire into either direction. He must have realized it at some point if he reached for me in that state of mind and yanked me here, but he won't go the last step because he is a total idiot."

"Fifty points to Slytherin." Bob clicked his teeth again. "Because you are Slytherin. Harry's more like his namesake from Gryffindor. He's been in denial over you for so long, it should have been a clue-by-four, but you know our favorite wizard. Confessing to himself that he really, really wants to tap that… in all the good ways… it sets him on course in the opposite direction just out of spite. You're the key to getting us out of this mess."

"Does this require some ritual or spell?"

The skull chuckled, teeth clicking. "If it was only that simple. Nope, no spell or fun ritual required. For once, magic can work without crutches and channels. But it's not happening at the moment because he’s a contrary little bastard even while he's out like a light. It's not like Dresden would jump your bones."

"So there is a sexual component."

Bob sighed dreamily. "Wish there was. Then it would be highly entertaining to watch."

"I don't see Mr. Dresden having that much of an exhibitionistic streak," John said wryly.

"Oh, but you do? You're already eyeing his ass and contemplating doing the deliciously nasty, right?" The green eyes narrowed and Bob cackled. "If it helps, he does the same with your firm, delectable ass. But," and he grew serious again, "to get out of this in one piece it would mean a conscious decision on your part to take this all the way to the end and Harry's acceptance that it's more than an itch he can't scratch."

"Explain."

"You see, forming magical bonds with sex involved is easy. Sex is emotions. Sex is a powerful release. You get the bond right then and there when that happens. You two? You wove together over time, formed it, took it to quite a level without the nasty, and while you ogle each other, it never happened on a physical basis. Platonic bonds? Good foundation, sure, and many have had such a connection, but Harry's really not acknowledging you completely in any way. He might know you're it, that you're here, within reach, but he doesn't really want to admit to liking it. Or needing it. Really lusting for it, in my so very humble opinion."

Marcone filtered out what was important with the ease of a professional businessman, ignoring the filthy rest.

"How long can he uphold this?"

"Who knows? Time is of no essence. This is everything he is. Vast, bottomless… magic. We could be here for centuries or just a few days. Doesn't matter."

More silence.

"What would I have to do to finish what he has started and won't complete?"

Bob blinked. "You are really, seriously, absolutely considering openly finalizing the shield bond? Acknowledging it?"

"There is nothing to consider or acknowledge. We are already connected. It's why I'm here. Mr. Dresden's sub-consciousness decided for him. I'm already very much involved in his… existence, his magic, despite him neglecting to tell me what I am to him." Marcone's brow furrowed. He would have a long talk with his wizard when this was over. He hated not knowing something so vitally important. "Which might explain the attempts on my life in the past years."

Bob snorted. "They weren't after you for being his shield and anchor. It's nothing that stands out. You're still absolutely mundane. Not a sliver of magic. They dislike you for other reasons. Like being a meddlesome thorn in their sides? Not going belly up or baring your throat to the more powerful things crawling around this city? Maybe because you keep helping Harry, teaming up, throwing your weight in with his? You're a scary, dangerous mortal even the Sidhe take more seriously than they want to admit. Take a pick. At least you're a good influence on Dresden."

He smirked.

"Magically speaking, of course. Harry would argue otherwise. But anyway, he would have to get his head out of his ass to do it. Getting Dresden to openly and maybe even carnally acknowledge this won't give you control over him, though," Bob warned, voice suddenly a little harder. "If that's what you're after."

Green eyes narrowed and the glow in the sockets of the skull intensified briefly. "I do not want to control him."

Bob snorted. "Since when?"

"I respect Harry as a free spirit. An annoying, destructive spirit, but free."

It got Marcone a snort. "You keep trying to get him on your payroll."

The man smirked. "And it has never worked. He is… stubborn and obstinate."

"One of his best features."

"Indeed. And it's a game that we both enjoy."

"Really." The disbelief was dripping heavily from the word. "You really just want to play? Well, yeah, you probably do. You like games. But Harry's not gonna fall for it."

"I never expected him to. I don't need him on my payroll to feel… responsible. This is my city."

"He's not your paid muscle," Bob pointed out.

"No. But he lives in my territory. I protect what is mine," he stated coldly, possessiveness bleeding into the words. He had killed and would kill should he be threatened, should one of his own be threatened or worse. Marcone had no inhibitions to make such decisions, to kill a person.

The flare in the sockets was almost unholy. "And there we have it again. Why you are so perfect. He keeps pulling your studly bacon out of the fire, real, magical or otherwise. You have his back. It started out strong and it only kept getting worse. Sure, he doesn't like your side of the business, but he understands the basic idea. And he knows you protect the innocent and those who work for you. Actually, Harry respects that."

Marcone's brows rose briefly.

Outside, torrential rain was beating against the windows and gusts of wind rattled around the building. Somewhere to the left a firestorm suddenly blew through. That was… new.

Bob whistle-hissed through those ancient teeth. "He'll hate it as much as he needs it."

"Because he hates me?"

That got John a wry laugh. "Johnny, that man hasn't hated you for a very long time. Actually, he never did. You think wizards form bonds with who or what they hate? Nope! You need resonance. The two of you have that in spades! Loud, loud resonance."

Marcone's face was unreadable, the green eyes hard, filled with a warning.

"You want him. All of him. Not just on your payroll. Not as a lackey. Not as the token wizard in your collection. You want Harry. And, "Bob added mischievously, "he really does want you for more than a little fun."

"Doubtful."

"Oh, very much not doubtful. Look around us. This is proof. Magical proof. This is all of him, his power, his self, his very soul. His fire. You think you would be here with us if it wasn't for that instinctual need to keep what he wants safe? It's the writing in the sky. Just, you know, more dark and world-endingly bad."

Marcone was silent, eyes on the raging storm again. Somewhere in the inky blackness lightning lit up the horizons.

"But back to the fact of what's at stake."

"Harry."

"Harry and you. You can't just say yes and then annul the bond or go into a messy divorce. This is it, Marcone. Unconditionally. This would be it for a reeeeally long time to come. You can't just do some basic rescue and first aid and then leave it at that. Harry's going to have his claim on you and you will lay your claim on him. No negotiations, no backsies."

John silently studied the unconscious man, took in the pale features, the lines of stress and not much sleep, of pain endured, and he knew he wouldn't be able to turn his back on Harry Dresden.

He never had. He never would.

Not in all the years this man had been his personal pain in the ass, the one who protected Chicago and its people against the unsavory elements of a supernatural and magical kind, the one who destroyed Marcone's property on a regular basis, and who had been such an attractive package from day one.

A man who had unshakable ethics, who went all the way for his friends and those he protected, and who had fought off anyone and anything that had tried to control him all his life.

Now John Marcone would become a kind of control, while also giving him control.

"He will hate this," he repeated.

"Nope." Bob popped the 'p'. "Nope-diddeli-di-nope. He may say the words, but he doesn't mean it. Puts all my classic romance novels to shame. Too stubborn to make the last step, but now it's out of his hands anyway. Unless you want him to die. After he lays waste to more than just a building this time."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. The elemental magic outside was rattling and roaring, the very ground heaving like it was about to erupt.

"I want his consent, acknowledging what this is. Consciously."

That got him a deep, exasperated sigh. "Sure. Ask the nearly comatose wizard on the brink of shattering his very much torn soul what he wants!"

"Yes." John's voice was almost silent.

Bob said nothing for a long time, but the pin-point glow was fixated on Marcone.

“How do I wake him?”

“Not recommended.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

Another exasperated sigh. “It won’t be pretty and like I said, not recommended.”

“He would be lucid?” Marcone asked coolly.

“As lucid as a man about to annihilate himself completely can be when primal magic is eating away at his mind.”

John nodded sharply. “Good. How?”

Because yes, he was a dog with a bone.

tbc...


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a bad idea.

A monumentally bad idea.

Continentally stupid. It would go down into the history books as being the worst thing Harry Dresden had ever done. But that was his life.

He wanted to scream at the suffocating darkness that surrounded his mind. Not the darkness of black magic but the darkness of unconsciousness. And it was unmerciful.

He had no clear idea what had happened for him to end up here, but it must have been either absolutely stupid, absolutely horrible, or so mundane, not even a wizard of his standing had expected it.

Knowing himself, all of it and some more.

He tried to find his way through this nightmare and his body tried to force itself out of its prison. A voice whispered to him, but it couldn’t be heard over in the panic his mind projected. His body wanted to react by fighting, but he was too weak. His breathing pattern changed; it became rapid. He was beginning to find it hard to get the air he needed into his lungs.

A hand touched his face and he couldn't help but jerk away from it. The voice began to talk to him then, calling his name and telling him that he was going to be fine, that he was here with him now.

His mind finally forced the scream to leave his body. His pain-filled form began to fight. He couldn't stop it. It was more a reaction than a request. He wanted it to stop but it wouldn't. He tried to ward off the hand touching him, but something was keeping them down.

Hands gripped his face and held it tight. A voice began to whisper in his ear, but he couldn't calm down; the fear was too great. He struggled even harder. The hands still held his head in a vice-like grip and finally words filtered through.

“Harry, relax.”

He followed the soft order almost automatically. His body went limp and he tried to force his eyes open. It was an effort. The blurry image that greeted him turned into face. A familiar, way too handsome in a cold and calculating way face. A face framed by unusually hair.

Surprise shot through him, adrenaline spiking and momentarily clearing his head.

“Marcone?” he whispered, his voice rough and weak.

The expression that was usually sharp and unreadable was different. Almost… private. Warm. Personal. "Yes. How do you feel?"

Good question. Actually… "Like a building fell on me."

It got him an amused chuckle. "I have to disappoint you there. Not this time."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why… are you here?"

"Do you know where 'here' is?"

"It's not polite to answer a question with another question," he snapped, but with a lot less of his usual bite and anger. Anger took too much energy; he didn't have a lot to begin with.

"Harry."

"Don't call me that!" Okay, there he went again.

"Do you know where you are?" Marcone repeated patiently, looking strangely fond and only a little exasperated.

"Here?" he echoed.

His brain was still trying to catch up to a lot of things and failing on all fronts. Time was missing. Facts were missing. Especially the fact why Gentleman Johnny Marcone of the Chicago mafia was with him. Apparently no one else was. His eyes roamed around.

Harry blinked.

He was in his lab.

They were in… the lab?!

"What…?" He swallowed. Marcone was in his lab!

For the first time he took in the man's appearance, which was as rumpled as the hair. Sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to reveal bare arms, dusty suit pants, no tie… and looking very much at ease and at home.

And there was a storm of primal magic raging around them, battering against what looked like windows – in his sub-basement wall! – with fire licking along the edge of the gusts and rain drops running down the not-glass window panes.

"Hell's Bells…"

Realization hit him like a brick wall.

Not good.

He was one hot mess and losing control of himself as instinct pushed at his natural boundaries. This was… his magic! His magic! And he was inside a slice of his own reality, floating inside the protective cocoon of his magic, with John Marcone. He normally didn't do downright panic and flailing, but right now his brain was doing exactly that.

"Focus, Harry. Focus on me."

And he did. Automatically. The voice so familiar, the presence more reassuring than it should be at the moment.

Marcone's smile was suddenly almost predatory, piercing. He wasn't magical, but for a moment Harry thought there was an energy wrapped tightly around the man's very core, dangerous and appealing, baring his soul to the one person in all the realms who could see him as he was. Completely as he was, no place to hide.

"That's… bad…" Dresden said superfluously. "Really, really bad."

"Quite," Marcone replied, sounding way too calm and urbane for a man who was inside a time abnormality in a primal magical storm. "And from what your skull told me at long length, I'm the key to stopping you going the magical equivalent of supernova."

"Huh?"

"Eloquent as ever."

"Asshole."

The fond amusement was back. "I repeat myself. But you know why I'm here and you know how to end this, stop yourself from shattering completely and taking the whole city and maybe a realm or two along. While I wouldn't object to never seeing either Winter or Summer again, I won't let innocents die." The last was said with a ruthlessness that seemed to shake Harry out of his stupor.

Dresden felt his insides freeze, his mind stalling, and everything he had been pushing away – far, far away – from his conscious mind came flooding back. In high resolution, surround sound and the addition of a wizardly outlook on life and the magic contained within the world.

Like this man. A man who was currently his only companion inside a primal storm created by Dresden himself, and who was already so deeply anchored inside Harry, there was nothing Harry or anyone could do to undo it.

Marcone. Thorn in his side. Bane of his wizardly PI existence. The man who was just a vanilla mortal and held more power than such a vanilla mortal should. A man who had power in more than one realm, who could successfully strong-arm the White Council into following his suggestions, and who had stood up and won against a lot of supernatural shit that would have turned lesser men into quivering wrecks. Or dead.

John. The man who he had soulgazed with within a second of meeting and to whom he had felt such an incredible pull, Harry had started to fight with just the mere thought of him. He had seen the essence of the man, what was truly John, and he hadn't been able to stay away ever since.

People claimed Harry Dresden tended to be a little oblivious sometimes. Or a lot, depending on who one asked. But he had known what Marcone presented for a while now. At least subconsciously.

Because he was…

"No."

"This would be weird if I wasn't used to you answering questions only you have heard in your head."

Harry glared at him.

It got him one of those curious head-tilts and mild smiles that told Harry he was being humored because he was behaving like a pouting three-year-old. "You would rather destroy yourself, maybe take out a city of innocent people with it, than acknowledge what has been between us for years? Drop your shields and let me be what I've been for years without my knowledge?"

He swallowed. He would never kill innocents. Or even the scum that populated the seedy underground of Chicago. But he also didn't want to surrender and give up. He didn't want Marcone…

_Liar!_ a part of him whispered. _You want him. Very, very badly. You had just turned a blind eye to the truth. He is the counterbalance, you idiot!_

"Of course not," Marcone answered his own questions. "You're just your knee-jerk, contrary self." He spread his arms slightly. "I am here. You brought me here, Harry. You know what to do now and I consent." His voice had dropped, almost a purr. "Accept."

The words pulled more than just a string. It was like a whole orchestra was about to play. Harry stared at the other man, rallying to understand. It was there, in the back of his mind, like a soft pull, like something that had been there for a long time and he had never really recognized it. It was a presence that had come and gone, had been there, then disappeared, like a ghostly touch he had never been able to pinpoint.

Marcone… knew and wanted… it? Him?

"I'm not going to work for you!" he managed, refusing to fall for the so handsome bait.

Logically he knew that they had been connected since day one, that he couldn't push the man away and find someone he might think was better suited. Logically he knew that the anchor didn't give Marcone any control over him. Logically, Harry Dresden was quite aware of his needs, of what it meant, that their roles were defined and unshakable.

But since his first reaction was always to be contrary when it came to Marcone, this was his go-to argument.

The eye-roll was impressive. Really. It was.

It had been rather simple to get Dresden to wake up, though, as Bob had said, it hadn’t been pretty. Not to mention that the foul odor of the potion he had held under Harry’s nose had nearly made Marcone gag, too.

Harry's eyes were feverish, but it wasn't a mundane fever. It was fire. It was magic. It was ethereal and wonderful, and it was endless. It was inside him, around them, it was fire, it was air, wind and earth and metal. It was all of the elements and everything else, too.

Pure. Untainted. Wild. And yet, controlled. Harry was still in control. Flimsy as it was, he was in control.

John held the gaze, feeling drawn to that fire in their depths, just like he had always been. It was destructive, Harry's preferred element, and it was as beautiful as the man who harnessed it.

"You are out of your mind," the wizard whispered.

"I would have preferred to have more information on the subject matter," John said calmly. "Not just a short moment that was more of a warning. I would have expected you to tell me about our involvement."

"We are not involved!"

He smiled tolerantly. "We are. We have been for close to five years, Mr. Dresden. I have been the anchor and shield to you for five years, not knowing what it entailed, that I'm actually bound to a wizard of your caliber." He raised a pointed eyebrow.

Harry stared at him, mouth a thin line, his eyes reflecting the inner turmoil and pain.

"I also would have expected the other half of this enterprise, namely you, to be a bit more open-minded and forthcoming. I prefer a risk assessment beforehand. I know you are not the one to calmly accept an invitation to lunch or dinner, so you could just have blown the doors off my office and stormed in yelling at me as usual," Marcone said wryly. "A lot less hassle and not at all apocalyptic. And still very much you."

The glare was impressive. "This isn't an enterprise or business venture!" he spat.

"No, it's very, very personal." Marcone gentled his voice, let the business man disappear. "And while I do not approve of how it was handled, I have come to accept the terms."

"You're insane."

"No more than you, Harry."

There was defiance, the quite visible notion to stop Marcone from using this personal address. Then resignation.

"We've been connected since day one," Marcone continued. "I've seen your fire and I never feared it. I wanted it. I didn't know just how badly, but you grew on me. Like a bad case mold."

Harry laughed, a whispery, weak exhalation of air. He was scarred and damaged and broken in places. There were shields around his soul, keeping him safe, isolated, away from the pain of so much past loss. Just like Marcone was. Two warriors who had seen the depth of pain and despair, who had persevered and come out stronger.

And now…

"We're good together. We've always been good together. And you like me," John teased softly.

The dark eyes held his, the drawn, pain-lined face too pale. Fine tremors were running through his whole body. Harry was holding on with such fierceness, such determination, it reflected in his every twitch and every breath. His control was waning, but he hadn't lost yet.

Marcone curled strong fingers around one wrist, feeling the hammering pulse.

"You chose me, Harry. You brought me here for a reason. I would have preferred a few more dates before life-changing, world-ending situations, but I am willing to finish what we started so many years ago."

Dresden's expression was priceless, going from hopeful to absolutely terrified. “Why?”

"Call me old-fashioned," he teased. "But in your world setting one's house on fire, exploding a building and burning a few cars might count as a date."

"I didn't… I…" Harry looked wonderfully flustered and slightly derailed for a moment. "Why do you want this?!"

“We’re good together,” he repeated patiently.

“And you would have me working for you, under your control, and at your beck and call!”

“Would I?” Marcone gave him an amused look. “I doubt it, Harry.”

"What's in it for you, Marcone? What?!" he demanded. "You don't hand out freebies!"

"No," he agreed calmly. "I don't. And this isn't free. You now that already. Everything comes with a price."

Dresden snorted, sounding tired, worn, and more than a little weak. "Knew it."

"You do and you don't. I won't extract anything out of you. No favor, no oath, no promises. The price is me, Harry Dresden. You openly acknowledge me as your counter-weight."

"You don't know what it means!"

"I do."

The dark eyes slanted to look at the skull and Bob squeaked, as if he had been caught.

"You told him," Dresden muttered angrily. It was a brief anger that cost him more energy than it was really worth, but that was Harry Dresden, ladies and gentlemen.

"He's not as stupid as you might think, boss," came the quick reply. "He figured it out mostly by himself. And if not now, he would figure out something's fishy when he doesn't grow older. Unless you get permanently killed, boss. Or blow yourself to pieces. Exhibit A. Happening right now. Johnny-boy got all the small print and the warnings. He also agreed to the terms of service, the data protection plan and gets the cheap souvenir T-shirt."

Marcone raised his eyebrows in a silent 'Told you'.

"Never said you were stupid," Harry muttered.

John watched him calmly, absolutely non-confrontational. "I think I know what you think of me. What you think you know about me."

"We soulgazed. I know everything I need to."

"Hm, yes. Quid pro quo. So do I. It was eye-opening. It was terrifying." He smirked. "It felt familiar. And you know I want you."

"I'm never going to work for you!" It was like a last rise, a last blow, and Harry's whole being trembled from the exertion.

“You won’t. It’s not about employing your considerable talents and you know it.” Marcone's other hand cupped the almost gaunt face. "I am your shield, no more, no less. I will seal off your soul to whoever tries to take it, to coerce it, to conquer it."

A nod.

"Except myself."

Another nod and the dark eyes filled with something Marcone didn't need to have put into words.

"I never would, Harry," he murmured softly. "You trust me already. Have trusted me for a while. I trust you with the life of my men, with my life. With everything I am. Like you do, too. I cannot command you. I cannot control you. You will always be the stubborn, annoying, obstinate Harry Dresden I know."

"And love," Bob chimed in for the first time.

Both men ignored him. Harry swallowed hard. The truth hung heavily between them.

Trust.

It was all about trust.

"You're crazy," Dresden whispered hoarsely. "Certifiable."

"No. I'm a business man. I know how to look at all sides of an offer before I sign into any form of agreement. I run the figures, I evaluate the gains and the losses, and I do my personal assessment based on the facts. This isn’t a contract written in either of our blood, but it is an agreement that would benefit both of us in the long run.”

Dresden looked dubious.

“Fully realizing the anchor and accepting the shield would enable you to sever any other ties, to shed the mantle of the Winter Knight, be your own again, beholden to no one. It would remove you from the White Council’s employ without fearing consequences. It would heal your body and soul, would arm and shield you.” Marcone held the turbulent eyes. “I wouldn't say no to a more personal side, but saving your life is my primary concern."

"Why?"

"You are needed. Chicago needs you. You are the city's protection. First and last line of defense."

He snorted. "Don't flatter me. I'd be in your debt."

John fractionally tilted his head, amusement bleeding into his expression. "You are the most stubborn, obstinate and argumentative man I have ever met. There will never be a debt. There never was. This is among equals, nothing more, nothing less. It would never be anything but that, correct? I cannot compel you. I cannot command you. And this isn't an oath I demand from you, Harry. It has already happened. Just accept me completely."

Harry raised a trembling hand, clasping the wrist of the hand that cupped his face. Something tickled John’s senses, like a shift in the air, a reflection of something else.

"I already have," Dresden rasped.

Marcone felt a spike of need, of longing, of such intensity, it echoed inside him and thrummed along the line that was and had been between them all the time.

He had by now straddled the tall, lean form, their eyes never leaving each other. Harry Dresden was an attractive man, no matter his own perception of himself. He drew looks, and not just for the way he dressed. John had lingered on those looks more than once, especially after discovering that under the surly, handsome exterior lay a fiery, untamable core.

Emotions hummed thick between them and he knew that they were only one step away from turning everything upside down, destroy their old world and create a new one. One step, one action, and things would never be the same.

"You chose me, Harry," he repeated, voice dropping again. "Your magic. I am your counter-weight, your anchor and your balance. I can shield you completely. I can make you whole. And you are mine. Unconditionally mine. Like I am unconditionally yours."

The only person to stake such a unique claim on him. Marcone had never trusted anyone with himself, to open up and surrender.

He let his own possessive side bleed through, let Harry see and hear just how much he was on board with something that had formed through years of interaction, of taunts, banter, and quiet, calm and serious conversations. It was something forged in battles of words and weapons. Yes, there had been dates. The Harry Dresden kind of dates. Neither had been aware of what they were, but they had enjoyed those moments.

“Do I want you? Yes, without question and doubt. Do I want to call you an employee; indebted? No. You are an ally. You are a trusted friend. I want you as free and untamed as you are, Harry Dresden. I want the wildness. I want you without shackles or favors to repay. I want you without life debts or contracts.” He leaned closer, their foreheads almost touching. “I despise the Court’s hold on you, or the Council’s. Everyone’s claim on you makes me wan to hurt them, tear them out of you. For my own, selfish reasons. I want you to be mine alone, Wizard Dresden. I'm that selfish. Now I can give that to you and appease that part of me.”

Marcone didn't kid himself. This was more than a mere business transaction, a deal, or a partnership. This wasn't about acquiring a wizard for his organization. This was personal. This was for him and him alone only. He knew it would be a profound change, though nothing anyone outside would immediately realize. He would adapt to it, had already in so many ways when I came to Harry Dresden in his life. He wouldn't turn his back on his organization, but he would set into motion contingency plans, would fortify Chicago, would reevaluate his alliances and contracts.

He was nothing if not flexible. He was nothing if not accommodating to this man, especially since it would be for the rest of their hopefully very long lives together.

Yes, he was cruelly selfish.

Theirs would be a partnership like no other. The Courts would probably spit fire and ice, especially the Leanansidhe. Harry would be free of her for good and forever. She would have no hold, all debts erased.

Marcone felt a vicious satisfaction course through him.

Harry was his. His alone. No one would ever be able to lay another claim on him. They were perfect; Harry’s magic thought they were absolutely perfect, too.

"The good and the bad?" Dresden asked roughly, clearly chewing on his open, honest words.

He bared even, white teeth. "Yes. Good days, bad days, all days."

"Till death do us part?"

"I think we're way past any kind of eternal vows, Harry."

The dark eyes were filled with the truth, with all the longing, need and fire.

Something seemed to shiver through the very fabric of the world. It was something that had finally sat up and taken notice. Sudden, intense and single-minded notice. Emotions lay thick between them and they both knew that only one step would turn everything upside down, destroy their old world and create a new one. One step, one action, and things would never be the same.

“I want you,” Harry finally rasped. "Need you."

“And it’s killing you to say those words,” John quipped.

“Right now? Literally.” He laughed breathlessly.

"I'm not going to let that happen."

There was still fight left in the other man. A fire and temper that rose whenever Marcone so much as hinted toward doing him a favor.

"Unconditionally," John reminded him. "No strings attached. Ever."

"Not your style."

"I'd argue that a lot you are is not my style, but I'd be lying."

Harry laughed breathlessly. "You're such an ass. You sweet-talk all your bonded wizards like that?"

“Only the special cases. And you are very special. Let go.”

“John…”

He smiled warmly. “Harry.”

Marcone had been nothing but truthful. He wanted this man. He didn’t think there was a time he hadn’t wanted him deep down on that primal, carnal level as well as in every other aspect as well.

No strings, no conditions, no payback.

And then he saw the acceptance in Harry's eyes, in the way his body seemed to relax. The last wall went down, no incantations needed. No potions, no weird ritual, nothing at all. It was just… that. His whole world collapsed and then realigned itself.

He shuddered in both pleasure and pain when the tidal wave of magical energy hit him. Harry had an avalanche of emotions finally break free, flooding him. It hurt, it hurt a lot, but it also relieved him of an immense pressure on his mind and soul.

The whispers of elemental magic along the ever-strengthening anchor increased, sounding comforting and reassuring. And for all its chaos, it’s also balance. He felt the fire, the very element Harry thrived on, which was his strength. He felt it lick over his skin, finally integrated into him as it had wanted to do for five long years. He felt his own soul respond, welcoming and almost happy.

John's mind struggled to make sense of the complex situation. He wanted to touch Harry. He wanted to do more than touch. It was so weird, so alien, yet so natural, and Marcone's mind was unable to comprehend what instinct was yelling at him to do.

There was the vastness of elemental magic, of pure, wild power. Primal, as on the day of the creation of the universe. He felt no fear, just... an equal need. He caressed his other half, finding no darkness there, only that endless fire. Such fierce, untamable fire. He felt the element grow, branch out toward the other three, entwine with his own soul, the roar deafening.

This was them.

Not sex. Not so simple that it was merely physical. It was complicated; and so much more. They were equals; they were both dominant and submissive. They were one and still individuals.

Perfection.

“I want this,” he whispered harshly. “You.”

Something centered itself in John. His own anchor point.

There was no sound but the other man’s soft breaths for a long time. Closing his eyes, concentrating on that sensation inside him, Marcone was almost able to pinpoint where the link between them was located, just there, just like that, and not going anywhere.

"John…" A plea. A prayer. A sigh.

And then something arched across their souls, erasing scars, healing darkness, resetting them, and making them whole.

When Harry woke, Marcone was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Outside, the elemental storm was gone, too. The primal magic had… not exactly dissipated, simply crawled back to where it had come from: Harry Dresden.

The basement was the basement again. With a door, walls, no windows into a realm of elemental storms and torrential rain.

And Bob was a silent watcher on his shelf. There wasn't a comment or snide remark to be heard. Only the eye sockets glowed knowingly.

“Hell’s Bells,” Dresden croaked.

Bob hummed his agreement.

He felt no different than before. Tired, close to exhausted, like running on next to no sleep and too much caffeine, but that wasn’t new. Badly in need of a shower. Yep, check. Also like he was used to.

And no Marcone.

“When did he leave?” he wanted to know, voice creaky and dry. He licked his lips.

“About thirty-four hours after the connection was completed.”

Harry's mouth dropped open in shock “Thirty…? Thirty-four hours?!”

“You kinda kept up the bubble effect, boss. Like you didn't want handsome elusive bachelor number 1 to leave. Too bad you also slept through the whole thing.”

Oh great…

“Well, at least in here it were thirty-four hours. Who’s counting? I’d wager any bet that no time passed outside at all. And Johnny-boy was really laid back about the whole thing, too. Slept soundly at your side for a while. You two looked so cute together.” Bob winked lecherously. “Good thing he didn’t have to call for delivery down here.”

Because the time effect worked on them, too. No hunger, no thirst, though rest had been needed. Especially after they had finalized the connection that Harry had started so many years ago.

And then Marcone had left.

Just like that.

The anchor was firmly in place, unbreakable; the shield wrapped around his core like a smooth, natural barrier. Absolutely natural; as it should be. The deed had been done, the deal had gone through, and Marcone had left.

Harry got up, swaying on his feet and cursing his still trembling body.

“I need a shower,” he whispered.

He found Mouse and Mister upstairs, looking absolutely unconcerned. Well, Mister always gave him that high and mighty look only a cat could pull off, perched on the couch like he owned it. Truth be told, he did. He owned the whole apartment.

Mister's tail twitched once-twice, then he yawned and curled up, ignoring him. Just like on any other day.

Mouse doggy-grinned, tongue lolling, and it looked more like amused laughter anyway. He sat on his haunches, just watching, as if he was waiting for Harry to catch on to what had happened and get the clue.

"Oh shut up," he muttered.

Their bowls were filled with food and water. Clean bowls, fresh water and fresh food.

Marcone had fed his pets!

Stars and Stones, his life!

Yes, the clues were there, but he really didn't want to follow the cookie crumbs to the million-dollar estate.

Marcone had left! Screw him!

Mouse whuffled and tilted his shaggy head.

Harry decided to get cleaned up.

He stood under the shower, head leaning against the tiled wall, the water beating against his skin. His breath caught as his mind replayed the moments in the lab, followed by waking up alone and finding Marcone gone. He should be happy that the mob boss of Chicago had disappeared from his apartment; it made the awkward moment of the morning after the night before more bearable.

But Dresden wasn't happy. Far from it. He felt as if something very important and almost vital was gone. It made no sense at all!

A shiver passed through him and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the water. The water was fine. Harry groaned softly and pushed away from the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face. Stubble scraped over his palms.

Stars and Stones, this was so fucked up.

What he had felt for all those years had finally peaked in this intense moment. He had given in to the desire to acknowledge his shield in the eyes of the man in question. He had finalized it by dropping his last walls and inviting him in.

They were anchored within each other.

For real. For good. Not like the connection could have broken before that day, but now it was absolutely real and Harry wanted… he wanted… more.

John Marcone, efficient crime boss, Freeholding Lord, his personal pain in the ass, was now his shield.

"Damn," Harry whispered and shut off the shower.

He felt no different, had no telepathic or empathic connection to the man, but he knew he had changed. Profoundly. Old debts had been annihilated with the anchor now deeply buried inside and acknowledged by him. Marcone had taken up space where he had just been a presence before. He had ruthlessly staked a claim, pushing out everyone else, not tolerating a single other influence.

The mantle of the Winter Knight hadn't really disappeared. He still felt it, like a distant shape he could reach for and manipulate to his will if he wanted to. It was no longer a shackle, a command, an obligation. It wasn't this cold surge of anger and fury. He wasn't bound by it, but he could have it as his weapon if he wanted to. It was a power incorporated in him, made his, able to use. And he would be able to shed it at a moment's notice.

Bob had confirmed that his spinal injury had healed seamlessly, so if he decided to end his servitude in a more official capacity, it wouldn't leave him paralyzed, without the use of his legs.

Harry had decided he would keep the mantle for now. No need to show all his cards, proclaim his freedom. Least of all to the Leanansidhe or anyone of Winter. Harry could only imagine Lea's astonishment and fury when she found out that her godson would never again belong to her in any form or shape because there was an anchor claim now.

The fallout would be spectacular, but it was nothing she could influence. The anchor had replaced the debt and obligation. The shield would keep him isolated from their influence and power.

Yeah, the Court would be ecstatic. Both, actually. Winter’s loss wasn’t Summer’s gain, and both hadn’t held him in high favors anyway. There were a dime a dozen beings out there who would rather see Harry Dresden dead and buried.

Hair damp, dressed in clean though rumpled clothes, Harry plopped down on the couch. Mouse watched him in that wise way only a dog could pull off.

"Opinion?" he murmured.

It got him a huff.

"Huh."

His body, while still telling him that he wasn’t in much of a good shape right now, but he had been worse off before; so there. His mind also felt less like he had been packed in wool and he could think more clearly.

Not that it helped. He kept circling back to the impossible, to the unthinkable.

John Marcone had actively, in so many words, and in gestures, agreed to be his protection, his shield; to anchor his magic, his very soul, and he had bound himself to a wizard whose life might just extend to more than a mere mortal’s. Unless said wizard got himself killed because of reasons and circumstances.

John Marcone!

Loaded, self-made guy who was on the board of several trusts, charities and whatnot. A man who was a known figure in Chicago's higher social circles, donor to many good causes, especially children's hospitals and aide programs.

Gentleman Johnny Fucking Marcone.

Mafia crime lord and scumbag. A cold-blooded, ruthless business man and killer. The man who ruled Chicago’s criminal underworld. The man who had brought his own kind of order to the city and who wasn’t such a bad guy despite everything.

Baron Marcone.

Freeholding lord, the only human to become a member of the Unseelie Accords. Lord of Chicago.

Harry had felt the power of this simply mundane human being. Not magical, but fundamentally there in a strong, unwavering way, fueled by the steel trap that was Marcone's mind and soul. For a non-magic human he had a strength some wizards would be envious of if they had touched it. The intensity, the drive, the sheer energy that was reflected in the predator he was.

Chicago was his. His territory. His alone. He had staked a claim, had left his marks, and the whole city was suffused by that claim. Just like he viewed Harry as his, but not in in the enslaving, possessive way the word suggested. As much as Harry had fought not to be connected to the mob in any shape or form, he couldn't fight what John essentially was.

And Marcone's soul was now his in turn. It had felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him when the realization had set in. John was anchored deeply within Harry and he felt him there, a heavy, irreversible fact. A claim of a different sort. It gave him balance; calmness. It gave him a serenity he had never experienced before, without dampening what he truly was.

Mouse rested his shaggy, massive head on Harry's knees and he scratched him behind the ears. It got him an appreciative sigh.

John. Just John.

John was a calming presence, so very alluring to his magic, evening out spikes and waves through the anchor, but not Harry's temper. Still completely human, absolutely mundane, normal, untalented magically speaking and yet…

Perfect. Shields were perfect as a rule, but Harry would never have believed it until now, after he had experienced it and still was. It was something that was his now, his alone, unbreakable, and for the rest of his life.

He got up and searched through the cupboards and pantry for food, as well as his icebox. There was only a can of questionable origin, half a carton of noodles, and a stick of butter. Oh, and a slice of cheese. Harry wondered when that had migrated there.

"Take-out it probably is," he concluded, mentally adding up what he still had in terms of spending money.

He really needed some cases.

Halfway through deciding between pizza and Chinese there was a knock on the door.

Harry frowned and reached for the blasting rod as he shuffled toward the door. He didn't expect anyone, though part of him hoped it might be Marcone coming back.

It was delivery.

Pizza. Really a lot and heavenly smelling pizza. The delivery girl gave him a bright smile.

"Your order."

"Uhm… I didn't… When?"

She glanced at the piece of paper stuck to the lid of one of the boxes. "Harry Dresden. And I got the address right. It says here it was paid for, including my tip – thank you! – by John."

"John…?" Marcone!

She proffered the boxes to him; he counted four. Harry debated for a long second to not accept the gift, not to be in Marcone's debt, even for such a small gift like pizza, but then his stomach growled.

Dresden plopped the boxes on the couch table. Marcone had sent him pizza, knowing he would be hungry, knowing he had nothing worth mentioning in his kitchen. John Marcone…

"Hell's Bells," he whispered.

Mouse grinned at him, nodding sagely.

*

“You got the hots for him, boss,” Bob stated gleefully when he stumbled into the basement to check on any residual magic that might be bouncing around the room.

There was nothing. Except an obnoxious air spirit who was having way too much fun.

“Shuddup.”

“You look better, y'know. I mean magically speaking. It's all back where it belongs. Inside. Deep inside. Not about to turn the world into a particle of schmutz in the great universe of things.”

He glared at the skull.

“And he like-likes you, too,” Bob sing-songed. "Lala-likes, lala-likes, lala-lililikes you."

“Not that it showed,” Dresden grumbled before he could catch himself. "He scrammed first chance he could get!"

 _He sent pizza!_ part of him reminded him mercilessly.

“Not that you need him to be around,” Bob told him cheerfully. “You got it back under control and under control it stays. Shields don’t need proximity as a rule. It’s a done deal. You’re kinda married now, after a long courtship, a really fascinating engagement, and a ceremony that reminded me of a shotgun wedding. Too bad about the honeymoon.”

"Shut up, Bob!"

He cackled. "Never seen two grown men so oblivious and dumb around each other until you two. Sure, Arthur married Guinevere and pretended to live a normal life, but look at all the good it did him! Brief moments in the eternity of all things magical. You two? Worse! Much worse!"

Dresden threw a book at him, but missed by a mile.

Bob was still sniggering when he climbed back up the stairs, fighting emotions he refused to have.

But he had them.

_Platonic shield bonds, my ass!_

*

Time passed. A lot of time. Days became weeks and Harry took on a variety of cases, ignoring the Marcone-shaped elephant in the room.

He didn't need the mob boss of Chicago with him. He didn't need John Marcone lording it over his head that he was important to him. He didn't need the smirks and the expensive suits that hugged his body just right and those knowing eyes and the handsome face! He didn't need it!

He had acknowledged their connection, Marcone was now a fact in his life, and that life went on.

End of story.

Harry Dresden was very capable of handling his magical potential, his life, his work, and everything in between. Marcone didn't have to talk him down from some kind of zone or fugue state. He didn't have to meditate with him. He didn't need to touch him, wear something that belonged to Harry, or have runes tattooed onto his body.

That Harry was thinking really family-unfriendly rated thoughts about that body had nothing to do with it either. That was just residual energy.

"Sometimes I wonder how you reached this time and place in your life," Bob sighed, sounding almost honestly astounded. "Of course you don't need him here in person, but you want him to there! You have everything and now you want the rest! And tell you what: you can have it!"

"Shut up!"

"For once in your life, listen to your elders, Dresden: there are no strings attached. There is no mind-whammying, no coercion, no possession, no doppelgänger. It's really absolutely straight-forward and simple. Well, not so straight for you anymore." There it was. The snigger.

Harry clenched his hands into fists, glaring at the wall. His magic curled around him, invisible but there, warm and comforting, and so much stronger and more settled.

He lost himself in PI work, whatever it was, however boring, tedious or mind-numbing. Some cases were easy, some were ridiculous, and a few bordered to the dangerous.

Bob wasn't commenting on Harry actively ignoring what had happened, but the pointed looks were loud enough.

Murphy's looks were just as loud and her scowls grew more and more fierce, but Dresden held his ground. He didn't talk about what had happened, just earned his money to pay for rent, utilities and food.

That was it.

And stop with the questions already!

*

It was nothing new that people took a shot at Dresden. It came with the territory, with the job.

It was also nothing new that it came out of nowhere.

His current case, another crusade as Bob had called it, had been launched by a pretty young thing that claimed something was out to get her. Harry, in his knightly way, had decided to help her, though Bob had had misgivings. Something about the girl didn't sit with Harry either, especially about her eyes, but he had taken her case nevertheless.

It turned out he was right.

Though not like he would have suspected.

The girl had been nothing but a pawn, almost like bait, looking for those with the gift to draw them into a trap. The demon behind it had attempted to gain a corporeal existence by draining magic from wizards. He had already managed to kill one, but Harry had proven to be too much.

Especially a Harry who was not so much more in balance with his magical core.

Not that he came away unscathed.

Neither did the girl. She was dead, which lay heavily on the wizard's mind.

Harry had made it home under his own power, with only moderate blood loss, and without collapsing right on the door step. He had reserved that until he got to the bed and then collapsed.

"I hate my life."

"You okay there, boss?" Bob asked in a chipper voice when Harry limped down into the basement lab.

"Peachy."

"You know you could put a little more BAMF into your spells and shields now. Keeps you from looking like you went ten rounds with a bunch of demons and lost."

"I went ten rounds with a bunch of demons. I won," Harry growled.

"But not by using what you can access now."

Harry glared.

"And it's not like you have to get used to it. It's there. Use it."

The glare intensified.

"Just sayin'," Bob sing-songed. "But then, you got your shield and you're not using that one either."

He reached for the hammer and the skull eeked.

"I'm not going around flaunting elemental magic!"

"Who said anything about flaunting? Or elemental magic. You always had fire as your primary element, boss. And who would know that you really can snap it on and off again just like that? No one! You think a demon would come home, whining about the big, bad wizard who kicked its ass?"

Harry gnashed his teeth. At this rate he might need a dentist soon.

"Marcone's your better half. Fess up to it. You two are so far from platonic, it's not even funny anymore. You want that ass and you can't think of anything else. Go, padawan. Find your destiny."

He didn't.

Actually, Dresden locked himself in his shabby little frat-party lookalike of an apartment and… didn't sulk. No, he didn't pout or sulk with the best of them. He just didn't!

If not for Mouse needing to get out to do his business, he wouldn't even have left the couch.

*

A few more days passed and Harry was getting antsy. Marcone had laid low all the time. Not even a call or some impromptu visit or running into each other.

It was unnerving.

It wasn't normal.

Normally he couldn't turn around without bumping into Chicago's beneficiary and patron of the arts mob boss. Or get manhandled into a car by Hendricks. Or discover an unsuspiciously suspicious car across the street, following him around.

It set him on edge, but not on the same edge he had stepped over just recently. The shield was in place, the anchor was working, and he felt the smoothness of his magic. He was balanced.

Still… no Marcone.

Mister gave him a wide berth, gifting Harry with judgmental, sometimes very disdainful looks. Mouse just took up most of the floor wherever Dresden went in his place, doing his best to be a support dog.

"You need to get laid, Dresden!" Bob cajoled. "You and him. Just that. You want it, boss. You want him. Just… do it already and stop freaking out over your not so new bisexuality!"

"It's not about that!" he snapped back.

"Then what? Can't be the looks. The guy is a looker! He gets a lot of motors running!"

Harry didn't answer, just banged the trap door to the lab shut, sealing off Bob's laughter below.

And then Murphy asked for his assist in one of the worst cases he had ever had to work on.

It had been terrible from the start, with two dead children and four missing. The two had been strangled and while the mother was found not much later, she too had been dead. The body had been in a very bad shape, just like the next they had found, of the father. ‘Bad shape’ was still an understatement and he knew he would dream of it for a while.

Everything had looked like some kind of sacrifice that had gone wrong, but there hadn't been an inkling of magic anywhere, despite the gruesome picture painted in blood.

It didn't help that someone else was starting to look for the missing children; someone who was as interested in keeping the city and especially the children within the city safe. John Marcone was rarely if ever rattled by whatever nasty, gruesome thing hit the streets, unless it involved children. He had a soft spot for them and it was one of the many things that had both thrown Dresden for a while and made Marcone so very appealing, too.

Now his henchmen were snooping around, trying to flush out the killers, and Harry was getting discrete help left and right.

No sign of his anchor, though.

In the end he had only been able to find one child alive, in terrible condition. She might not survive the night. The kidnappers-slash-killers had been caught, but one had committed suicide by overdosing just before his arrest. The other was probably mentally so unstable that he wouldn’t go to trial at all. He had a one-way ticket to a heavy security mental institution.

And no, it had been a completely mundane case.

It sat wrong with Harry. So very, very wrong. He wanted to scrub himself clean, wipe the images of the small, dead bodies from his mind.

Drinking his body weight in Mac's ale wasn't the solution either, mainly because he was going on broke trying to do that.

There was a rather easy solution, but he already hated it. No spellwork, no potion, no nasty Nevernever business. A very human interaction and still Harry had done everything but done that.

With a soft groan he ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up all over the place.

Maybe it was finally time to man up.  
He would rather face Mab.

tbc...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for that warm welcome into this fandom! You all made my day!
> 
> Due to work and my brain nearly imploding from writing like a fiend for the last few days, here's a smaller chapter today.

Walking into Marcone's office Harry was quite aware of eyes on him. Hendricks was, as usual, not far from his boss' side, looking his normal, red-headed linebacker self. Gard was shooting him cold, calculating looks that held no emotions at all. Marcone himself was as always impeccably dressed, his charcoal suit costing more than Harry paid in yearly rent, utilities included, and he looked as suave and impenetrable as always. Actually, he looked criminally good. Completely put together, with a sliver of annoyance tracing his eyes maybe, but otherwise the perfect picture of total control. The opposite to Harry's disheveled, scruffy looks.

"Mr. Dresden."

"Cut the crap, Marcone."

John had the audacity to smile. Harry wanted to punch him for it.

A brief nod toward Gard and Hendricks was all that was needed to get them to leave, though Hendricks appeared far from happy. Gard… well, who knew what really made her happy? The door clicked closed behind them.

They were alone.

"I take it you have reason to be here, other than wanting to insult me."

He stared at the other man, almost glaring, but it glanced off Marcone like so much did. Harry's mind kept reminding him of the man who had been in the basement with him, wearing shirt sleeves and scuffed pants, hair in disarray, looking so… approachable, normal…

His shield. His protection and his strength.

He felt his presence, deep within his soul, an almost physical anchor, a deep and heavy fact in his life now. His magic was a calm well, vast and untamed below the treacherously even surface, and it flowed back and forth along their connection.

Dark brows rose over intense green eyes. The tanned face was open and relaxed. Just John. Dresden felt like his armor had been stripped away, like he was laid bare before Marcone's eyes.

"Uhm…"

His stuttering got Harry a smile. "Evocative as ever. I should be thankful for the little things, though. You didn't storm in here after blowing the doors off the hinges, accusing me of whatever you think I did or didn't do this time."

"Fuck you!"

Okay, so he did lose his higher brain functions on a regular basis around the guy.

The smile widened even more and Harry felt that little facial movement shoot through him with a lot more sizzle than it had any right to be. He was briefly thrown, at a loss when faced with the knowing glint and that damned handsome face. He scrubbed a hand through his already disarrayed hair, wanting to pull at them in frustration.

Man up. Face what they had done.

And not done. Especially that part, which they hadn't done. What he wanted to do so badly and had been denied because the man he had held at an arm's length had just up and left!

The temper flared with that flash of anger, but luckily nothing fizzled or blew up.

He closed the distance between them, Marcone not flinching for even a second. Those piercing green eyes met his own, the expression suddenly less teasing, more intense. Like he was looking right into Harry's soul, despite the fact that he already had.

"You left," Dresden accused, but with less heat and more of a complaint. All it needed was for him to stomp his foot and the embarrassing picture he presented was complete.

Yeah, business as usual.

"You needed time to recover. I had a business to return to," was the calmly delivered, absolutely emotionless reply.

Fury flashed through him, hot and unrestrained, like a living thing with a mind of its own. He felt it in the curl of his magic, in the way he twisted his lips and a low growl left his throat. "Time was of no essence! We had all the time we needed!"

Marcone studied him like he was the most interesting specimen of wizard. "Maybe. I believe you needed it, though. My presence would not have helped in the slightest."

"You are wrong!"

John tilted his head, looking quite intrigued. Not many people dared to challenge him, especially those who wanted to live another day or not have their business go belly up after a takeover from Marcone. Harry had never had any problem running his mouth off and getting into a ton of trouble because of it, and really, Marcone brought it upon himself!

"I agreed to this!" Harry spat, refusing to back down from the perceived confrontation, even though there was none. It was just him.

"I remember. And the connection was finalized. I think that was the deal."

"It wasn't a deal!" he exploded, throwing up his hands. Something churned through Dresden and he bit down on it. He hissed an expletive through his teeth, feeling as unbalanced emotionally as he had been magically until a few days ago. "It wasn't a deal," he repeated, softer now. "Or a business transaction. I'm not some kind of one-night stand you can just cast aside and return to your sordid little business!"

"Oh? Is that so?"

Harry gnashed his teeth. The anger was back. It curled low in his stomach. "Yes," he hissed. "You know it! Don't make this one of your dirty little arrangements!"

Marcone's expression shifted minutely, then he briefly closed his eyes and the tension drained out of his shoulders. It was as if a wall had come down and when his eyes opened again, something inside Harry twisted in a good way and wanted to leap forward at what he could see.

"It wasn't," he agreed, voice suddenly almost gentle. "And according to your skull, it was only the last step in a longer journey. Ever since we met."

"Yeah. That. Bob talks too much."

"I think he explained it very well." Marcone held his gaze, unafraid of another soulgaze, but what was happening between them was even more intimate than that. "I gave you time to understand and come to terms with every aspect of it."

"How chivalrous! I didn't need time!" The thrum around them had increased, though it wasn't even an audible sound. It was magic and then again it wasn't. "There is nothing to come to terms with!"

"Really, Mr. Dresden? I highly doubt you would have been calm and collected waking up next to me, realizing what had happened. I also do not force myself on my potential sexual partners," Marcone said, voice so calm and reasonable, he might just be talking gardening or the weather. "I don't have to coerce or drug them. I don't need blackmail or threats or guilt."

"I wasn't drugged! You think you could roofie me into having sex?!"

"You were high on elemental magic," the other man pointed out mildly, like a teacher explaining the basics of addition and subtraction to a particularly dense student. "You were in no condition to decide whether to take this to the next level, a more intimate level, or say no. Not to mention that you were so opposed to it already, especially acknowledging my very straight-forward role in it."

"I wasn't…" he stumbled. "This wasn't about… that…" Bye-bye brain again.

"It was about my person," Marcone made his point. "My business," he added. "You have made your position quite vocally known in the past."

Yes, no, maybe? Harry felt his mind whirling. Yes, he did object to what Marcone stood for. No, he couldn't argue with the results. Chicago was safer, more organized, and removing John Marcone from the top would only mean wars among those trying to step into his footsteps.

Yes, it was about his person, but then again, not. Harry wasn't so superficial to fall for that handsome face and the clearly well-trained body underneath the hideously expensive suits. He wasn't one to fall for charm and sugar-coated words. Marcone was a lot more than that and it appealed to him more than he wanted to confess.

"It's… it's not about that! Not about you personally!"

Okay, there it was. Confession out.

"No? You refused to listen to your instincts for years, Mr. Dresden. Instead you worked on convincing yourself that I am your enemy and cannot be trusted. It was for the best for you to work through what you really want on your own."

"My instincts are crap sometimes!" he snapped.

And he trusted Marcone. Had trusted him for longer than he liked to think about. The man had provided him with back-up, information and protection without demanding really a lot in return, actually.

"Not when it comes to something this fundamental. This isn't about an association or an arrangement. This is about your magic logging on to me, connecting us, and between the two of us, you are still the more knowledgeable in those matters. I find it tell-tale that you fought this on a sub-conscious level. You needed the time, Mr. Dresden. Without my presence."

He really, really hated that reasonable voice. He wanted to punch the scumbag as badly as he wanted to push him against the nearest wall and kiss him senseless.

"You also don't need me present in person," Marcone delivered his last blow, Harry almost rocking back from the words. "You have what you need, Harry. I can adjust my life accordingly."

Calling him by his first name didn't set off the usual reaction. Actually, it was just… that. His name. And it sounded somehow right coming from Marcone.

"No, I don't need you close." He balled his hands into fists, the magic churning but far from trying to break free. "But I like it. I like you close, that’s all!"

Okay, so, there. It was out in the open. Nothing to it.

Dark brows rose in the handsome, chiseled face. A face that wouldn't change, would be there for him, like the whole man; connected and bound, but in a very good way.

"You are aware that despite what has changed in our… personal relationship, everything else is still the same?"

"You mean do I know that you're the head of a criminal organization based in Chicago? That you're a scumbag with money to burn and shady deals the police know about but can't pin on you? That you have your fingers in all kinds of illegal stuff that looks absolutely legal?"

Marcone smiled humorlessly.

"Yes, I know you haven't changed."

"Good."

"Like I haven't changed."

"I hope not," came the easy reply. "I wouldn't want you as anyone but who you are, Harry. Anger management and boundary issues and all."

"Do you really know what you did, Marcone?" he demanded.

"Yes. It was explained to me quite thoroughly and in detail."

"I doubt it. Bob has a tendency to skip over the boring stuff."

He smiled. "Not this time. Do you remember our conversation?"

Harry exhaled sharply. He did. He remembered Marcone's possessive way, how he had claimed him, just like Harry had a claim on this man. He remembered the churning emotions, the need, the want, and the promise.

"As I said, you needed the time to come to terms with it," Marcone told him with that calm, reasonable voice that still had Harry want to hit him or kiss him. It was a close call which desire was stronger.

Looking back on their past five years, it had always been like that. Harry had always felt like that, but he had denied the more intimate connection for so many, still valid reasons. Well, he hadn't even imagined that it could be more than mere attraction, that they were magically connected.

This was going to be one of those things between them, Dresden realized. That surge of warring emotions, that power and pull the man had on him. Being at odds, having such different outlooks on any given situation, and still pursuing the same goal. It should be extremely disconcerting, but it somehow felt absolutely right.

"You're really taking this well, considering."

"Considering I'm only human, absolutely mundane?" He shrugged amicably. "Since meeting you I had my eyes opened to a lot of things; fantastic things. Being chosen as your shield and bound to your soul as its anchor is not even close to the worst I have encountered. Or could think of."

Harry had to grudgingly agree. They had run into a lot more freaky stuff and horrors that had scared the pants off even him. And about being bound to him…

"Hey!" he protested.

The laughter in his eyes was almost enough to undo the last of his thinning control.

"I think reinventing myself after a while is nothing I can't do," John told him calmly. "It is part and parcel of the business I run, a possibility in case of an… emergency. Your involvement in this business has changed some aspects, as has my life-long connection to a wizard. I will not give up my city, but there will be a contingency plan."

Marcone's presence had become almost overwhelming and Harry wanted nothing more than to grab him, push him against the wall, do things… He shivered. So much for the possibility of platonic bonds. It was laughable that he had even considered nothing more than a mere partnership for even a second.

They had been too close, too much in tune, too much connected right from the start. Years of hair-pulling, taunting, bantering, threats and strangely quiet moments… Harry had known deep down inside that John Marcone was something more than a meddlesome, troublesome and very much deadly mafia lord to him. He had simply refused to believe in the unbelievable.

Because believing it would have meant knowing they were a perfect fit.

He tried to even out his breathing, calm himself, but the magic was dancing over his senses in an almost alluring way.

"Shall we convene this meeting somewhere else?" Marcone asked smoothly, teasing laughter dancing in those fascinating eyes. "With less electronics in case of sudden… bursts?"

Dresden grimaced at that, but part of him was very much on board with getting out of this place. While Marcone's territory didn't feel alien to him, he knew it wouldn't do to test Marcone's shielding capacity in a modern skyscraper with a metric ton of expensive electronics around every corner.

John shot off a text, then picked up his coat. Harry followed, feeling a little unsettled, but not in a bad way.

Hendricks was just outside the door; of Gard there was no sight. The bodyguard looked decidedly unhappy, shooting Harry narrow-eyed looks, but he didn't argue with his boss. Not even when Marcone dismissed him to drive himself. The silent exchange was tell-tale enough.

Especially the one Hendricks gave Dresden. It held a clear threat that if anything happened to John Marcone, Harry Dresden would be held personally responsible.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, the chapter you might have been waiting for! I upped the rating, just in case.

Harry hadn’t really given the ‘where’ a lot of a thought, but instinctively he had known it would have to be his place. Marcone hadn’t even asked where he should drive either. He navigated the streets like a pro in the unremarkable old car he had chosen from a whole armada of cars. As if he had grown up driving cabs or pizza deliveries. Dresden didn't for one minute doubt that they were being discretely followed by some muscle.

The raw feeling inside him eased when he finally shouldered the door closed, ignoring the quizzical expression.

"Don't diss the security system," he grumbled.

Okay, so he couldn't ignore the look. He just had to open his mouth. His brain-mouth-filter never worked anyway.

"How could I ever," was the teasing reply. "It barely lets you in and you are the tenant."

But the wards had. The wards had embraced Marcone, whispering over him, welcoming him.

Just having him here, within his own walls, had chased away the persistent itch of wrongness. It had been like missing a limb for the past days, unable to shake off the sensation of loss, unable to pinpoint where it all came from exactly and yet knowing it was because of this man.

Bob had called him thick-headed and slow for his behavior. He might have been right. Not that Harry would ever tell him.

Marcone said nothing about the state of the little hole in the wall place Harry called his home. Well, rental home. He assessed, but he didn't judge. The man had garden sheds that were probably bigger than Casa de Dresden. And most likely a lot better furnished. Harry refused to be embarrassed about the mismatched furniture, the lack of decent lights, and how it seemed that he hadn't cleaned up in a long, long time.

There wasn't a hair to be seen of either his dog or his cat.

Harry expelled a breath and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Marcone…"

"John."

He gritted his teeth.

Marcone gave him a half-smile, green eyes alight with mirth and way too much knowledge of matters far outside Harry’s comfort zone and general expertise. Three failed relationships were not a lot to work with. Especially since they had failed spectacularly and mostly painfully, accompanied by betrayal and mind-control.

But this… this wasn't… like that. This wasn't about a fling, or a friends with benefits arrangement. Right?

“Talk?” Marcone offered as he made himself at home without actually moving at all, sounding too amused for Harry’s liking.

And he looked absolutely like he was at home, standing in the middle of the room, all loose and relaxed looking, with less sharpness than usual, but still Harry didn't make the mistake to think Marcone wasn't a super-predator about to strike.

“About what?” he snapped, falling back on his knee-jerk reaction. “You selflessly agreeing to become anchored to me?”

“It was hardly selfless. I get something out of it, too.”

“I knew it!”

There was a devilish glint in those too perceptive eyes and Harry just wanted to snarl at him.

"And I didn't have to agree. It was already a solid fact between us. I simply wasn't aware of it, which is something I do not appreciate, and you were your usual bullheaded self in denying what your own magic was telling you. You are usually quite frank, an unstoppable force, so this was surprising to say the least. But it explains a few things."

"I…" Harry snapped his mouth shut.

Damn, the man! Because that was essentially it. He hadn't listened to his instinct, to the magic. He had ignored everything left and right and just… yeah, well, he hadn't really ignored Marcone as such, just the enormous neon light that had been pointing at the man the whole time. He had heard one or two of his friends mutter about them bickering like an old married couple sometimes.

Harry had overheard that like the professional wizard PI he was.

"I found it hard to explain to myself, why I always protected you, suffered your insolent accusations, your disrespect of me and my person, your lack of common sense, actually. You went into any and all confrontations and you let me wondering about your sanity."

Harry made a croaking sound.

"And yet, not protecting you from all the mundane threats to your person wasn't even an option. I gave you access to my network. I offered you unlimited assistance."

"For the price of working for you," came the petulant reply.

Marcone's expression was almost thoughtful. "Maybe. I didn't realize until I was in too deep in an association with you that I was pulled to you on a very different level as well." He closed the distance between them. “You came to me again, Mr. Dresden. After I gave you the option to ignore the more… carnal side of what is between us. You didn’t.”

Harry clenched his hands into fists to keep himself from doing something he might regret later.

“You are hard to ignore,” he snarled.

“As are you. I haven't been able to ignore you for years.”

Y-years? His brain was stalling, trying not to read too much into this and failing spectacularly.

"Years…" he echoed faintly.

John gave him that look that told Harry he was being an absolute moron again.

“How can you be so… at ease about this?! About you and me. Us! Don’t tell me your little organization is very much on board with their boss in a relationship with a man!”

“So it’s a relationship?”

He gnashed his teeth, frustrated and so very much out of his own comfort zone, he was already looking at it in the back mirror.

Marcone chuckled, still all ease and looseness, and the way he radiated it, Harry was starting to unwind, too.

“I’m not going to post my relationship status on any social media sites, nor has any relationship I had become public knowledge or has left a very select circle of trusted associates. Least of all one that was forged by magic and will give me… an edge. I doubt you will be hanging on my arm at functions, accompany me to business dinners or meetings, and while I might believe that you can dance, I won’t ask you to partake in such events either.”

Harry grimaced.

"None of my associates will learn about your role in my life, your importance."

Importance?!

"You will be either seen as the meddling investigator you have always been or a possible business partner I am trying to bring into my organization."

"Yippee," came the flat reply. "As if I wasn't in deep shit with Murphy already over one thing or another."

"You might have to suffer seeing me with the lady of the week at official functions, though," Marcone went on. "I do need to uphold a certain expectation and cover." He smirked. "The elusive wealthy bachelor. I am prime real-estate in that regard."

A hot burst of jealousy came quite unexpected and Harry floundered, not used to feeling something so personal, so intimate and so strong over a relationship that was insanely complex and complicated.

There was a sudden seriousness to the green eyes that derailed the next temper flare and their expression was mermerizing.

"Your life is your own, Mr. Dresden. It always will be. I will not partake in any manipulation of it. Too many already have. I found it hard to tolerate your indenture to Winter already."

Harry opened and shut his mouth again, mind racing. The words had something personal, something private, and it pulled him in. The anchor was deep inside, humming with rightness, his magic an easy, deep well of familiar energy.

"I…"

"In the end it's your decision. Yours alone. I might have had to kick you into saving your own life, but the rest is up to you."

"So you left."

"Yes."

"Just like that."

"It wasn't as easy as you might think. I tend to be a bit possessive of what I feel is mine.”

And another surge, sharp and angry. "I'm not a possession!"

"No, Mr. Dresden, you are not," was the quiet, serious reply that soothed his flare. "We both know this is not how it works. And because we do, I leave the rest of our… relationship in your hands to decide upon. You came for a reason, Harry." Marcone pointedly raised his eyebrows.

“You drive me insane!”

John smirked. “Quid pro quo."

"You had me followed on a case!" he fought taking the last step with more arguments.

"To assist in case an assist was needed."

"So you did my job for me?"

There was a brief smirk. "You did solve it."

"You are not my nanny or chaperone!"

"I am your shield, Mr. Dresden," Marcone reasoned.

"Doesn't mean you are my sitter!" he shot back.

"I have a very strong interest in keeping you safe. I always had. I might not be a magic-user, but I believe my reasons to do that were always anchored in your magic." He raised an eyebrow at the slight pun. "I told you many times before that I protect my city and those within. You were always a very special case, Harry."

The intensity in the words seemed to spark something inside him. Harry fought the wave of hunger, but it was a losing battle. He had known it from the start. They would never be anything but fiery together, anything but highly compatible and still explosive, and he wanted this man.

"I don't know whether to kiss you or kill you, Marcone!"

"I should hope the latter is less prevalent."

"Oh shut up!"

So he finally took what he wanted, assured in the knowledge that Marcone wouldn't shoot or knife him for his daring attack on the man’s person. The distance between them had already dwindled and Harry simply buried his fingers in the expensive suit that would need a good pressing afterwards and pulled the other man to him. He slanted their mouths together with less finesse than he might have wanted, but he didn't care right now.

John's response was just as powerful, as strong, and just as intense. There was no hesitation, just fingers digging into Harry's shirt at his sides, holding him in place, keeping him there. It didn't feel proprietary, more like… yes, an anchor.

There was a power behind that kiss, and longing, and yearning, and need, and so much more that it had him falling. Harry had kissed people before, in all kinds of romantic constellations, but he had never felt this surge, this sheer force. John gave as good as he got. Magic curled around them, gentle tendrils of power, of fire. Neither of them gave the other any indication of surrendering and Harry heard a soft growl that came from his own throat. His jeans were becoming decidedly too tight.

He lost himself in the contact, the taste and sound, restraining himself not to go too far just yet.

It went very far, very fast not soon after.

The emotions were overwhelming. His magic was everywhere, while still so very much contained within a small bubble around them, and it pushed and drove him, made him want something he had never dreamed of having.

Clothes were divested off.

The man was contagious… addictive… his… only his.

Yes, Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden could be quite possessive too, if he gave in to his magic and let himself follow instinct.

It was almost obscenely pleasurable and arousing to have John Marcone push him onto the bed and crawl over his lap. Especially since the man was nearly completely naked, dress shirt hanging open and revealing the enticing sight of a well-trained, muscular body. He was in prime shape. Really, really good shape. It put his own body to shame since Harry had no work-out regimen to speak of. Chasing monsters or being chased by them didn't really count.

But the way Marcone watched him, he must look like the tastiest buffet spread.

"John," Harry murmured, trying to push the offensive item of clothing off the broad shoulders while also mapping that enticing chest.

The kiss was hard, demanding, needy.

John’s intent was clear and Harry had no objections. His expression was almost feral and it turned Dresden on more than he would ever confess to. He could very well double for something supernatural, something out of the Nevernever even, the way his eyes appeared to almost glow with the predator inside.

It was almost too much, to have that talented mouth and those strong fingers work him relentlessly. Marcone was very fixated on having him come and come hard.

With his long dry spell, Harry did; with a groan of relief that was almost a sob, hands digging into the mattress, pushing into the hot mouth and feeling teeth scrape lightly over his cock.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

John was above him, lips reddened, wet. His eyes seemed to reflect the fire of his own soul and he leaned down to give Harry small, biting kisses.

“Want you,” he growled. “So, so much.”

Gone was the urbane voice; this was rough, reflecting only need.

Harry curled a hand around the muscular neck, pulled his partner into a long, intense kiss that was as dirty as the prior encounter had been, and he felt the hard evidence of John’s hunger against his hip. He wrapped his other hand around that hardness, squeezing playfully.

It got him another growl, teeth nipping at his lips, at his chin.

Magic sizzled, visible and yet not, and any other time Harry would have been worried about the display, but right now it didn't even raise a single alarm.

He bent a leg and John slotted himself more comfortably against the other man, trailing biting kisses along the smooth neck. The first frenzy had died down, but Harry wanted more, felt the energy inside him, unabated, and while he wasn't a teenager anymore, he was a wizard. Stamina was something he had. Well, not porn star quality, but the way he wanted this man, it felt like he could give them a run for their money at the moment.

John's caresses were both arousing and calming, carefully probing and yet in absolute control. A control Harry liked and despised in one. He wanted that fire again, that unrestrained power.

"Not going to break."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Harry."

"You're not my first!"

Marcone's expression was one of surprise and interest. "Why, Mr. Dresden…"

"Don't!"

He laughed, openly, without malice, and kissed him again. "You keep surprising me, Harry Dresden. It's one of the many, many things I love about you."

Harry felt something inside of him stumble and squeak in surprise. He stared into those pale green eyes, so focused on him and only him, and his breath stuttered.

John's mouth slanted into a smile and he silenced any possible reply with a kiss.

Preparations were meticulous – and driving Harry insane. He was pushing back onto those fingers inside him, feeling the fire turn into a furnace about to go nova.

“John… Now!"

"Pushy."

But he slid into him in one smooth, still slow and careful move.

Sensations sparked between them, nearly drowning out rational thought. Harry had no idea if this was normal, if a shield bond should be like that, but he didn't really want to argue with how good it felt, how right. He felt the power realign itself, smooth out and become less erratic. It was as if something that had been buried for too long finally rose and took its rightful place. It was a pure sensation, nothing dark or malicious, nothing devouring or overwhelming. There was no pain, no fear, just the pleasure, the fullness. He moved with each stroke, pushed back, fingers digging into the hard muscles, encouraging, wanting more.

For all his hunger and need, John wasn’t moving as quickly as before and he pushed Harry into almost getting completely hard once more. Both felt loose and raw and oversensitive and it was too much and not enough and too soon a

When the climax hit him, Harry’s groan was almost like a release of its own. The incessant slide, the pressure, the hard form pushing against him, had him want more while simultaneously cursing the other man for his teasing play.

Magic exploded through him, cushioned by the shield and kept under control by the anchor. It crawled over their skin, sinking into their souls, a visual storm of it within a small shielded bubble that was reminiscent of what had happened in the lab. Only without the primal energy raging outside. Actually, all that was contained within, no danger to the outside where it might have blacked out a ten-block radius.

In here, it was like a warm shower, a gentle breeze, warmth and softness. Deceptively tame.

Harry whined as John withdrew, half-collapsing over him. He wrapped his arms around him, feeling scars under his fingertips, feeling heated skin and sweat. And he felt so much energy and life, so much fire that corresponded with his own. The whole effect collapsed into itself, dissipating into thin air, sinking into them and was gone.

“Fuck,” John mumbled into his shoulder. He was actually trembling a little.

"Hm, yeah," Harry sighed, arms wrapped around the powerful form, feeling just as shaken. "A really good one."

Marcone laughed, sounding breathless. "I should be used to your bad puns."

"Hey, that was actually pretty good, considering how many braincells I fried just now."

John chuckled and ran a warm caress over Harry's chest. He felt loose, pliable, so very at ease. His eyes reflected that relaxed state of mind. Dresden felt his mind shut down, one surviving synapse at a time, and he couldn't stop the yawn.

Hey, he had expended a lot of emotional and magical energy! Bob would probably laugh his non-existent ass off if he knew what had happened and how much it had drained him.

Marcone rolled away and he made a protesting sound, but he couldn't argue with the towel and wet cloth that cleaned up their mess. He really should get a shower, but he was feeling too heavy to move, just enjoying the sight of the other man in his full glory. Harry took in the scars he could see, testimony of a life that wasn't just that of a desk jockey. He knew Marcone had been in the military and he probably had earned some of those marks there.

"You didn't fry my phone."

The words drew him out of his appreciation of the male body. Marcone had apparently checked his phone messages or whatever. Daring of him to bring the expensive little toy with him in the first place, Harry mused.

"Hm, good wards?" he hazarded a guess.

"Apparently. That didn't stop you the last time, though."

Harry stretched and felt another yawn coming. It got him an amused look. "Maybe the shielding effect extends to electronics," he murmured.

"A possibility, yes." John joined him in bed again and Harry happily let the magic roll around them, caress the other man like it was the world's biggest cat looking for an ear scratch.

Marcone didn't so much as flinch, just let Harry curl close, Dresden sighing with pleasure.

There was no rush, no pressure, no need to move. There was nothing but this feeling of being truly home.

"Get some rest," John murmured. Harry clenched his fingers into the sheets next to the other man and Marcone exhaled softly. "I'll be here, Harry."

"John…"

"I'll be here," he repeated. "I promise."

tbc...


	7. Chapter 7

Harry woke slowly. Fuzzy memories trickled back. A sudden surge of fear and panic almost had him sit up and frantically look for John, but the next moment he felt a strong hand kneading through his hair in a soothing caress.

He was wrapped up in warmth; human warmth. Breathing, living warmth. There was a little shift, hard muscles moving under skin. The fingers still carding through the longish strands had Harry involuntarily make a little noise of approval.

"Good morning."

John. He was still there. Not gone. And damn his emotions, they were all over the place! How could this man upset him in so many different ways? Why did Harry always let himself get riled up? Or let his temper get the better of him? Right now the emotional reaction was quite strong, founded in the last time he had woken in an empty bed where he had expected Marcone to be with him.

Harry shivered when those strong fingers caressed his neck. It felt so right. It felt perfect. It felt… absolutely… unmistakably… positively…

Balanced and complete.

There was a soul-deep quietness to John's presence, so relaxed and easy. It seeped into Harry, had him relax and unwind, too. There was no rush, no pressure, no need to move. His magic moved so softly, so gently, it was like a small kitten rubbing up to him. A dangerous, deadly kitten, but a total fluffball at the moment.

There was nothing but this feeling of being truly home.

John’s touch calmed him more than any words could. His presence alone was healing the cracks in Harry's soul. He turned his head and looked into expressive green eyes.

John was way too awake, too bright-eyed, and looking way too good unshaven and with his hair tousled. He sat propped up with pillows against his back, a paperback in one hand.

"Awake?" he dared to ask.

"No," Harry mumbled, wondering what deity had gifted the man with such composure and perfect imperfection. He knew he himself probably looked like a starving scarecrow with a bird's nest for hair. "You are. Why?"

It got him a low chuckle. "My inner clock. As a business man I am an early riser, Harry."

Warm, gentle emotions sloshed back and forth between them. Undefined, unclear, but still understood. All thoughts about how unfair life could be in regard to personal appearance disappeared. Harry sighed; contented.

And no, Marcone was definitely not laughing. "Coffee?"

He grunted.

John’s grin was tell-tale. He looked so incredibly open; younger. So at ease, with no armor between them and all masks wiped off his face. This was the man behind them all. Harry felt warm and mellow. Very, very mellow.

Marcone watched him with that tolerant smile. “Black and strong?"

"If you can find any in my kitchen, yeah."

"If not, I'll have some delivered here."

Harry squinted at him. "You got your fingers in some coffee shops, too?"

"Of course. How else would one survive a morning?" he answered smoothly.

The living warmth rolled away from him and Harry curled up on the spot of mattress John had vacated, soaking up the left-over warmth. He heard the rustle of clothes, then there was silence.

He felt so sinfully and utterly relaxed, inside and out. It was something he hadn’t experienced in ages. John Marcone was healing the wounds, literally and figuratively. He had taken the pieces and put them back together again. Dresden's magic was a calm, deep well of energy, reassuring in its quietness and strength.

It had been so easy in the end.

After years of fighting, of denial and stupidity, it had been easy.

His artificial walls had crumbled like brittle paper in a gust of wind. In their stead was the solid presence of John Marcone; his counterbalance and anchor.

Harry wanted to laugh, he felt so relieved, light, and carefree.

The smell of coffee was strong in the kitchen and Harry followed it like a scent trail. John was standing next to the kitchen counter as he walked in, dressed in black sweat pants, a black T-shirt and bare footed. The pants were too long, the shirt just a little too tight, but the package was incredibly appealing. Yes, John Marcone was devastatingly handsome in a business suit tailored to his figure, but he looked very hot in just sweats and a T-shirt.

Mister and Mouse's bowls were filled again. Of the animals there was not trace, but it looked like they had made a feed and run.

"Huh. I had coffee. Wouldn't have thought," Harry commented, brain alternating between admiring the man moving so assuredly in his kitchen and the realization that his pets had scrammed to give them privacy.

He failed.

"There is not much of anything else," Marcone agreed, rerouting his remaining brain cells into paying at least some attention. "Why do you have a jar of old pickle juice and a bag of baking soda?"

"Might come in handy."

"With that lonely AA+ battery that keeps banging around in the egg compartment?"

"At least my fridge doesn't whisper 'Zuul'."

He wanted to high-five his brain for coming up with classic movie references in his under-caffeinated condition.

"Your fridge is an old-fashioned icebox, Dresden."

"Keeps the beer cool."

"If you had any."

"I hate you."

"I know."

John’s smile grew and Harry found he really loved the unshielded, real smile. The other man held the coffee out like an offering and Harry took with a groaned thank you.

After the first nip almost scorched his tongue, he settled on just inhaling the aroma and waiting for the scalding brew to cool, going back to admiring John's mere sight.

His shield. The man he had fought against and with right from the very start. The man Harry had always pushed away. He was so many more things than just the mafia kingpin or just the Baron, and Harry was looking forward to discovering everything.

He took the opportunity and leaned in, catching the other man’s lips in a kiss. He felt the calm waves, the warmth and acceptance, the need, all coming from the other man, and he was reacting to it.

It was terrifying how well they were adjusted to each other, how in tune. It hadn’t been all happiness and pink clouds and rainbows, and it never would be, but there was a lot of instinct involved. It made some things easier, some harder.

Right now it made it very hard to keep his eyes off the other man, soaking in every line, every move, every single piece of him. Very, very hard…

It was the first time he had sex on his kitchen table. It was amazingly sturdy, he thought almost absentmindedly. Thankfully it was sturdy.

John was a very enthusiastic participant.

“Stop teasing, Dresden!” he growled, sounding almost wrecked.

Harry wouldn’t dream of ignoring that command.

Ever.

He came hard. That he left a bite on John’s shoulder was a moment of embarrassment.

Marcone groaned his release, breath shaking out of his lungs, and he tipped his head back.

“Damn.”

Harry nuzzled the inviting stretch of skin along his throat. “Yeah.”

He was just as shaky, the connection between them almost electric. He might also have killed the rest of his brain.

“Is this going to be the norm?”

“How should I know? Never bonded to a shield before.”

John snorted. “Not to mention your dry spell.”

"Hey!" He swatted at the bare arm. And missed. "Don't see you complaining!"

His hand was caught and strong fingers pinned it down.

"I won't complain, Mr. Dresden." The words were laced with a predatory purr that had Harry's mouth go dry. "I find the effects of your magic… interesting."

"Uhm…"

"We are both long past the stage of oversexed teenagers."

"Hn…?"

Marcone started to run those fingers along Harry's arm. The caresses were calming and teasing in one. Making him crazy and still relaxed him into a puddle of goo.

"How long until someone's gonna storm in here, trying to see if I killed you?" Harry asked, rallying to get his mind out of the gutter and his magic under control.

"Not for another day."

"Hm, good."

He raised perfect eyebrows. "I see you have plans."

"Kinda? Just wouldn't want to scandalize Cujo."

"Harry…"

Harry grinned. "I hope you like pizza, because my cooking is non-existent and you saw the contents of my fridge."

"You mean the icebox?"

"Ass."

"So pizza it is," John agreed easily. "Though I hope not for breakfast."

"Hey! It's a culinary delight."

"Remind me to take you out to a real restaurant sometime."

"I have been to restaurants!"

"Yes, I distinctly remember they were mine and you set at least one of them on fire and contaminated another with ectoplasmic spatter. I'm still not sure what happened to the Sushi Bar."

Harry glared, sensing the old surge of rising blood pressure and magical energies at the teasing words. He felt alive, thrumming with that energy, focused on just the man in front of him, and his brain reminded him mercilessly that yes, this had been them for five years. Sometimes with a lot more weapons or henchmen involved, sometimes with Harry bleeding from minor wounds or still crackling with magical energy. And sometimes, on a few occasions, Dresden had been ready to pass out from exhaustion, having depleted every shred of energy on defeating the monster of the week, and Marcone's presence had sparked enough fire to get him through another hour. There had been one moment that had burned itself into his mind for weeks after when Marcone had simply held him as he was shaking with what he had thrown at the tentacle thing out of someone's nightmare, his presence the only thing Harry had focused on to bring himself back from the edge.

Yes, big fat clue back then, right there, and he had ignored it in favor of irritation and spitting insults.

No, he had never backed down and he had secretly enjoyed pitting himself against the Baron of Chicago.

"You drive me crazy!" he whispered.

"And you repeat yourself."

There was no fever, no hunger, in the kiss. Just the deeper emotions that sloshed gently over the shield bond. There was no rush, no pressure, just the closeness.

Marcone answered the kiss with the same languid intensity that Harry had put into the intimate contact.

"I’m here," he simply said.

"I know."

"Not leaving."

"I hope not."

"You did need the time, Harry."

He grunted. Yeah. Maybe.

"Could have left a note," he tried to win the argument he had no chance of winning; ever.

"I ordered pizza."

"Asshole."

Marcone's amusement was clear to see.

Magic trickled over their skin, forming little eddies. It had never happened with any of his partners, Harry mused. Not with the mundanes, not with fellow magic-users. Marcone watched the energy without a shred of trepidation or displeasure. He actually looked fascinated and not just a little bit awed.

"This feels amazing,” Harry murmured after a while. "You feel amazing. Perfect."

“We are fucking perfect,” John rumbled.

No doubt at all. They fit. Like a glove, one might say, but with some sharp edges left.

He knew it was way more complex and complicated in one, but it was them on a level no one else could achieve.

They got cleaned up, separately, though John Marcone had absolutely no inhibitions to walk around the place naked after he got out of the shower. Harry swallowed hard. John gave him a teasing smile, then started to dress.

Harry fled into the shower.

Damn his magic!

He found out that John Marcone could order delivery from apparently any place he liked. He didn't question the man's decision to have heaps of hot, delicious breakfast foods deposited on their doorstep, together with two thermoses of really good coffee.

Wizards had insane metabolisms and by the time Dresden felt really full and sated, there was hardly a crumb left.

He could almost feeling the mocking amusement radiating from the other man.

"Bite me," he mumbled.

"I would, but I'm afraid you'd burst."

Harry threw a pillow at him.

John only laughed.

*

True to Marcone's words, they had the rest of the day, which wasn't just mindless sex, though sex was involved.

Mouse and Mister were suspiciously absent, except when feeding time came up. That was the moment the two reappeared, Mister with a demanding mrowing, Mouse with a patient look that told Harry he was being suffered as a stupid, hormone driven human for now.

They ate, they disappeared.

Marcone looked highly amused. "You have interesting companions."

"Yep. Like the deadly mob boss with his feet up on my couch, reading… is that Cosmopolitan?!"

"Found it on what might double as your coffee table but looks like some recycling center."

"Make fun of the poor wizard," he grumbled.

"I would invite you over to my place," was the smooth reply. "For the rest of our… private time."

Harry stared at him. "What?"

Marcone just gave him a pointed, really very teasing look. "Could I tempt you with steak dinner?"

"What? Now you're also bashing pizza?" Harry shot back.

Dark brows rose. Harry caved.

No, what they had didn't need a period of bonding in private, affirming their connection, or anything as primitive as just sex. That was the stuff of trashy romance novels and some more quality fiction in obscure little shops. The connection had already worked, had stabilized with Harry's conscious acknowledgement, and that could have been it.

The rest was… them. Unresolved sexual tension, someone might call it. Harry refused to come up with any kind of term. He just enjoyed what he was freely given, unconditionally given. There was no potion involved, no contract, no second layer, nothing at all.

He could have had this for years.

He just wouldn't have been ready to accept it at face value say, five years ago, even after the soulgaze, and he hadn't really been all too thrilled to have a mob boss involved in his life. That mob boss had been part of the past five years nevertheless, and they had been kind of involved.

Yes, Harry mused, his life was just as complicated and weird as before.

*

"Ohhhhhh…. Harry!"

Bob sounded almost revering, the lights in the skull's sockets brightening.

"What?" Harry demanded.

"You're positively glowing…"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're lit up like a Christmas tree or the Fourth of July! That must have been some world-rocking, mind-melting, Grade A-plus porn-worthy sex! I want details!"

"That's private," Harry snarled, refusing to blush.

"That good? Of course it was that good! Johnny-boy is no slacker and he's your match. He's doing a good job anchoring, not just blowing your brains out. He did blow you, right?"

Dresden grabbed for the hammer. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh Harry, you still need the book with the pictures and the first grade level words?"

"Bob!"

"Alright, alright! Geez, what do they teach you young'ins these days? We established just what John Marcone is? Your shield. He keeps a lid on that primal magic. And your anchor: you can access that primal magic and use it without blowing up half a block. Even when he hits that special spot, Harry-dear. You glow. Magically speaking. You look well-fucked on a supernatural level!"

Dresden closed his eyes with a groan and pinched the bridge of his nose. Just what he needed. "It's… visible?"

"That healthy, rosy glow? I guess it'll even out when you two do… in about two decades," Bob cackled.

"Not helping!"

"Might be sooner, considering that when you finally invest in something, you do it completely and with no holds barred. Or the shield snaps into place. Marcone is a lot more in control of himself than you can ever hope to be, Dresden. Watch and learn. If you had done the horizontal tango right from the start, it would have shorted the whole pining process and many an existential crisis would not have happened. Take note: sex is the solution to good things."

"I wasn't pining!"

"Oh please! You were one whiny complaint away from twenty-four hours of emo songs! And a litter of cats!"

"I have a cat!" he snapped. "And a dog!"

"Point."

He glared at the skull for good measure, then decided he needed some air.

Upstairs, the cat and dog in question eyed their master with knowing looks and Harry just grunted as he flopped onto the couch. Mister decided not to put up with the human's tantrum and left. Mouse simply gave him that wise, encouraging look.

"Easy for you to say," Harry sighed.

He whuffled.

Yeah, maybe he should just see if there was a case out there that let him work off whatever it was Bob had been hinting none too subtly at.

It didn't help that despite sinking his teeth into a new case, he drifted back to John on a regularly irregular basis. They gravitated toward each other and seemed to be making up for lost time.

And damn, it was good.

Not just the sex. Everything. Having John. Part of Dresden kept pointing out who he was in bed with, what the man was doing for a living, but he could ignore it most of the time.

With his new position as Harry's anchor, Marcone had read up on the supernatural, especially magic and wizards, and he kept quizzing Harry about the most obscure things.

"Don't you have a whole squadron of lackeys to do all that reporting for you?" Dresden asked as he decimated a bowl of cheese-covered nachos. They were obscenely good.

"I like to go to the source when possible. As I told you, Harry, I normally get all the information before I make a business or personal decision. Our situation reversed my usual method." He sipped at a glass of probably horribly exclusive and not really cheap red wine. "Now that we have established foundation for what we have and share, I'm very interested in the future developments."

Dresden wiped his hands on a napkin, already eyeing dessert. "Can't tell you more than I already have since pairings like us don't go around writing books and holding classes."

"Pairings like us?" he echoed. "The honorable wizard and the criminal scumbag?"

Harry opened his mouth and shut it again. "Not what I meant," he finally grumbled.

He knew his life, which had already been complicated, had become a lot more so now. He was involved… bonded!... to the head of a criminal organization that he despised, but their connection had nothing to do who they were and what they did.

Marcone gave him that small smile that told Harry he was being humored. "I wouldn't rely on second or third hand stories either. Even if you knew such a pairing, their connection might differ from ours."

"Probably." Yes, that chocolate cake looked delicious.

"You are a bottomless black hole when it comes to food."

"You knew that going in," Harry mumbled around a forkful of amazingly creamy-chocolaty cake. "No backsies."

"I might have to invest in food options."

"Pizza Spress is always looking for patrons to fund them. Too bad they've got no stock for you to buy."

John leaned back, all lean, easy lines, glass in hand. "I'll run it by my lawyers."

"You do that. In the meantime I'll keep them afloat my own way."

"I'd be concerned about your arteries and heart, looking at your eating habits, if I didn't know how you burn it off."

"Is that a come-on, Marcone?"

The smile was dangerously predatory.

Harry felt his heart skip a beat and he cursed his libido. Damn this man!

tbc...


	8. Chapter 8

There had been no bang, but there was a ripple effect that still kept going. It was discrete, without a magical earthquake in its wake or any other kind of world-shifting equivalent, but there was a buzz and it made for nervous twitching and some supernaturals looking over their shoulder for no reason they could discern. If the Faerie Courts were aware something had changed, they were keeping their distance. There wasn't a single hair of any kind of faerie to be seen.

Ever since becoming aware of the other world out there, the dangers inherent in its existence, Marcone had made it his job to know of every supernatural creature to grace the streets of Chicago, above or below. He kept taps on those he deigned the most dangerous, no matter their heritage or standing. Harry knew just how well-networked the man was and how meticulous, so the fact that he knew about every even low-level visitor shouldn't be that astounding.

With his position as a Freeholding Lord, Chicago had gotten onto the maps of many others, some benign, but most just power-hungry and trying to get in on the game or usurp Marcone's position. There had been some careful approaches, some test phases, and one serious attempt that had ended with Harry being involved in some serious magical firefight in the sewers of Chicago.

While the Red Court was gone and the Black Court was barely hanging by a thread, other creatures had tried to take over the empty spots, sniffing out new territory, wanting to establish their own. Marcone had cleaned them out quite efficiently, his name as the Baron making rounds and gathering more respect and caution.

And that had been before Harry Dresden had finalized their connection by acknowledging who he was, who John was to him. No one knew, but the effects were there. Chicago was suddenly dangerous ground, but not just because it was the territory of a Freeholding Lord. Something was happening and the warning of that change had even the most powerful and ancient tread carefully.

The White Court vampires were keeping an extremely low profile, except for Thomas, who was family. His brother had been asking odd questions, poking and prodding at what Harry might know, especially since Chicago was rather quiet at the moment, but he wasn't poking too hard. Yet.

Marcone didn't know about Harry's blood relationship to a White Court vampire and for now, Dresden kept that secret. He trusted John, absolutely, but he needed to keep his brother safe, their relationship safe, and should the topic come up, he would tell the truth. For now, Thomas Raith was just an ally.

The Council was equally in the dark. Should they discover that despite all their manipulations and attempts to keep Harry Dresden leashed, he had torn free and found a shield, they would probably shit themselves. The youngest known wizard with such an incredible power and he was growing into it; fully. Harry already felt more in control of the vast energy at his beck and call. He knew he couldn't be indebted to anyone, that his soul was safe from takeovers, tampering or blackening.

"You could easily eradicate their wrinkly asses," Bob told him gleefully. "And I'd help you scrape them off this plane of existence."

"No," Harry said calmly.

"Spoilsport. We could have so much fun!"

"I'm not going dark, Bob."

"It's not going dark to spring clean just a little bit."

Harry shot him a warning look. The bright lights inside the eye sockets were dancing with mirth.

He had no intentions to wage any kind of war against the White Council. His job was the safety of the city he had chosen. Chicago was a magnet for all kinds of trouble, mainly because they either wanted to pit themselves against the man who really ran the territory, or because something magical or supernatural had decided Harry Dresden was in the way of whatever their plans were.

Harry liked being in the way. He liked thwarting plans of evil. Just as he loved helping kids find their lost pets or old ladies their lost memorabilia. He didn't discern between mundane and arcane, though he usually came out with less bruises or scorch marks while looking for an album of family photos or a runaway bunny named Fuzzypaws or Twinkle.

*

Gard, for reasons probably only a Valkyrie understood, seemed to be in the know right from day one.

"I didn't tell her," John said as they shared pizza and garlic bread in front of the TV.

As rustic as the food was, the setting wasn't. Marcone's home was anything but rustic even in the darkest basement corner and Harry had needed to get used to being here without having been coerced, hit over the head, or brought in by Forces Unknown. It wasn't the more representative estate he also kept at hand – for show, he had once told Harry. To impress business partners of both the mundane and the supernatural world. The estate was absolutely impersonal, with a lot of bling, flashing money and power left and right.

This house was no less impressive, but on a more personal scale. It wasn't exactly small, but it was homier. It had the personal touches the estate was missing. Everything was absolutely modern, in contrast to the old building with its exposed brick and painted black steel beams.

Despite always being on their own, Dresden didn't make the mistake to think they actually were alone. Marcone's men were keeping the place under constant guard, though Harry had to actually see one, and Hendricks always conveniently appeared when he was needed. He suspected the townhouses left and right of this one were probably also Marcone's, if not more buildings, and while their privacy was assured, no one missed a single mouse coming in or out of here.

They also didn't bat an eye at the company their boss kept.

So far Marcone hadn't remarked on Harry maybe moving somewhere else. Maybe a place that belonged to John or one of his many companies. Dresden was the last person to bring up his living situation. He could very well take care of himself and he didn't need his loaded partner to… to pay for him.

Dresden still refused to take money, even if it wasn't a debt or favor. It was his nature and his natural reaction to owing anything to Marcone. John's reaction was just a silent look. A look that spoke lengths and told Harry what an idiot he was.

Well, he wasn't idiotic enough to send back the food that kept being delivered once a week, or to protest pizza nights. Or sleepovers in a place that didn't need a hearth fire and was lit by candles. It was an act of carefully maintained balance.

It helped that the TV at Marcone's place was enormous. Gigantically so. It also didn't have grainy pictures, turn into a smoking heap or blow up. Big plus there. Harry suspected having a shield now to keep a lid on magical outbursts might have helped in that regard, as well as the electronics being warded nine ways to Sunday. He had been less of a danger to more modern electronics as of late, unless he really summoned some serious magic and set his mind to blowing something to smithereens. He still had to test the shield effect it for real, but enjoying a comfortable couch and really good oven-baked pizza wasn't that occasion.

As for his magic, well, Bob had been pointing out to him that he needed less and less foci, that he reached for the primal elements with more ease and less trepidation that he could blow himself to pieces. Harry couldn't argue there, though he didn't want to put it all to a big test. Small things worked fine, calling up shields was going well, but he really didn't want to create some big-ass fireball without a focus right now. Also, drawing a lot of power drained him, burned his pathways, and it was a bitch of a headache to go all out and throw the heavy weaponry at something.

"So, Gard," he said, mouth full. "Don't think we really scandalized her, right?"

"She is my security consultant," Marcone said, as if that explained everything. It just might. "And Monoc probably knows more about this business than anyone would be comfortable with."

Least of all Harry, who protected what they were with everything he had. Right now he kept his head down and himself out of most trouble, taking almost boringly mundane cases to pay his rent and have food in the fridge.

Monoc knew a lot of things and he didn't put it past Vadderung to be in the know about anchor bonds between crime bosses and really powerful wizards in the making with anger management issues.

"I told Hendricks the real reason behind our increased… association with each other," Marcone told him. "It was important for him to know."

Harry grimaced. "Way to keep me on his shit list. Cujo just loves me."

His shield had the audacity to laugh. "I think that took you off the shit list, Harry," he told him patiently.

"You trust him with that knowledge?"

That got him another patient look. "Yes."

"Because he's a good boy?"

A sigh. "Because I have known Nathan for a very long time, Harry. Since we were teenagers. He has been at my side since I was thirteen. I trust him implicitly. I have and always will. His loyalty is without question. His past misgivings were about your insistence to bring me down, possibly getting me killed in one of your… adventures. And your insistence to call him a rabid dog."

"You kept involving yourself in my cases without being asked!" Harry's eyes narrowed and he looked at the man who was the perfect picture of absolute relaxation next to him on the couch. "You're not immortal or invulnerable now either, John! You can still get shot! Bullets, arrows, magic spells... not to mention all the beasties that come crawling out at night to take a bite out of you!"

The green eyes were pale and intense, the handsome face serious. "I know. I also know that shields are a little more resilient. I can't work magic, but I'm also not the damsel in distress."

He had never been. The man was always armed to fight off half of the supernatural world out there and he surrounded himself with men and women who could do the same. The estate was protected by state of the art mundane and supernatural elements. Harry didn't even have to stretch himself all that far to feel the powerful runes and the protective magic everywhere. With the solidifying of their connection, his own magic was now interwoven in the protection and this place was a literal fortress.

Like his own apartment.

Both of their energies were interwoven in their places as they were personally.

The estate reflected it to a lesser regard, but it wasn't easily cracked either, but their two real homes were a mirror of them.

"I know." Harry sighed explosively, running a hand through his as usual tousled hair.

He briefly reached for the wards, felt their reassuring twang against his magic, responding warmly, familiar and strong. He felt himself relax a little more.

Marcone raised his eyebrows. Dresden gave in.

"I'm no more of a target than before. Nor are you. As you said, it can't be detected. Seeing us together can be interpreted in different ways, right down to you finally accepting my continued offers to be in my employ."

Harry grimaced.

John grinned mischievously. "It would be easy to create that cover."

He sank deeper into the way too comfortable couch. "Nope. Not happening."

"The consultant slot is still open."

"Freelance basis. Reimbursement only."

John took the last slice of garlic bread. "You're still on that? Even now? After acknowledging I'm your one true chosen?"

"This isn't Twilight or such crap, Marcone," he growled.

"We could take over the world," Marcone purred out of the blue.

Harry slanted his eyes at the other man. "No."

"Spoilsport."

"You wouldn't like it."

"Try me."

"You have a Freehold and probably half the east coast anyway. Don't get greedy."

"Sometimes I can be. When I have something to gain."

"Ouch! That's a really bad pick-up line."

John's amusement turned into quiet laughter. Harry pulled his 'one true chosen' into a kiss. He tasted of garlic and tomato sauce. Something inside him resonated with the pleasant emotions coursing through him.

Yes, they were perfect together. Bringing something of each world into the mix and making it so much more potent. He wanted this man. Badly.

And he loved him.

It was an almost novel thought.

"Huh," he murmured as he pulled back.

Dark brows rose and Harry almost lost himself in those open, green eyes. No shields, no masks, just John. "Epiphanies, Mr. Dresden?"

"I love you?" he said, sounding mystified.

"Ah. You think?"

Yes, the man was laughing at him. Silently. Inside his head.

"Yeah."

"I think so, too."

"You do?"

"Yep. You love me. For a while."

"Asshole."

John silenced him with another kiss.

Harry let him. He was a pro at being the bigger man. Really. Even if he melted into a puddle of shameless pleading to please not stop when Marcone decided to apply his mouth to Harry's very interested dick.

*

It became apparent that Marcone had already made changes to his organizational network. Harry had no trouble getting into any of his buildings, clubs, restaurants, bars or offices. There was a standing order to not stop the tall guy who looked like he was an extra in an old Western, no matter how deranged he might seem, and if explosions followed, no one batted an eye.

Yes, Marcone had good men. He paid them extraordinarily well, which meant they did what they were told, no questions asked, though there were curious looks and raised eyebrows sometimes. Harry was still quite apologetic about the seawater tank.

Hendricks still scowled at him just like before and gave him such unimpressed looks, Harry had to hand it to him: he was consistent. Nathan Hendricks was far more than the stereotypical bodyguard, hitman or lackey. Harry had fallen for the really very clever cover of a hulking muscle man with a buzz cut and narrow little eyes who barely more than grunted in response to any of his remarks. What he had discovered over time was that the man he loved riling up by calling him Cujo read Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, Sartre and other philosophers or poets of the same venue, and he was working on a thesis. It had really thrown him for a while, rearranging his world view of Hendricks. That world view still struggled with a doctorate attached to the name Nathan Hendricks.

That this man also sometimes told Marcone, in not many words, that he didn't think his decision or plan had been the smartest, revealed even more. He was John's most trusted friend, probably the only person to hold that special title, and he could speak his mind without danger to his person.

"I can feel you judging me," Harry told the red head. "You still don't trust me to keep your boss safe?"

Those blue eyes held a sharp, undefinable expression. "I know you have a vested interest in keeping him alive now."

"I had a very vested interest in not getting Marcone killed in the past, too," Dresden argued.

Because a dead Marcone would have meant a world of trouble and Chicago going up in fire and flames.

"You didn't give a damn about him," Hendricks only said.

Well, that was highly unfair! Harry wasn't someone to easily stand by and watch people getting killed, even scumbag mafia dons who always popped up in his own investigations under the guise of lending a hand. It had usually finished with either Marcone's recruitment speech or some heated, thankless words from Harry. Sometimes both. Still, Marcone had never turned his back on him, had never backed down either, and the criminal back-up had really helped a few times.

"I did, actually," he said, voice almost quiet. "Give a damn. A lot."

Hendricks' face was impassive. "Not that it showed."

"Hey! I was going through some stuff! And your boss kept trying to hire me! Some might even say he was a big bully about it, right down to threatening."

"You are dangerous, Dresden."

"And Marcone isn't? Listen, I can't change the past. It took me a while to wrap my head around the whole thing, realize what this is between us, but I'm not going to stand by and let him get hurt or worse, okay?" he snapped. "I very much like him in one piece!"

Hendricks had the audacity to smile. A small twitch of his lips, but there was a rather satisfied expression flitting over his broad features.

"Good. We're on the same page then."

And with that the man just left him standing where he was.

"Of course we're on the same page!" he yelled after him. "I'm just a slow reader!"

The one-finger wave had him snort a little laugh. Well. Okay. That… was kind of a truce? Wasn't it? Not that he had expected them to be best buds over the connection he shared with his boss, but hey, at least there was a modicum of something like acceptance of Harry's presence in John's life. Not that he gave a damn whether or not Hendricks approved. The man wasn't the father of the bride and John Marcone was no damsel in distress.

And Harry was mixing up metaphors.

Somehow, Dresden really didn't want their relationship to change. It would be reality-shattering to elicit a friendly nod or, be still my beating heart, a smile. A grunt or narrow-eyed warnings were familiar and told him that all was well with the world.

He could work with that.

tbc...


	9. Chapter 9

There was only one occasion Dresden actually saw John Marcone in the company of someone other than Hendricks or some business associate. It was some charity event and Harry was only there because his own client was at the hotel and claimed she was being haunted by a ghost. The raven-haired beauty in the elegant, red dress seemed to enjoy herself. Marcone, dressed in a black designer three-piece suit, with a white shirt and a stylish black and silver striped tie, was polite, suave, and shaking hands. Hendricks stood a discrete distance, surveying everything, just like half a dozen security guards everywhere.

Harry didn't crash the event and he actually only passed by the grand ballroom on his way to his client, but seeing Marcone and the aspiring model-actress-whatshername on his arm so clearly fawning over the rich, elusive bachelor and patron of Chicago did something to him that he had never felt before in his life. There was a brief stab of… No, he wasn't jealous!

And no, he didn't really notice the details on the bespoke slim suit, how it fit the trained body, how it seemed to be a part of him. He really didn't.

And definitely no, his magic wasn't curling deep in his belly, reflecting an agitation he hadn't experienced ever before.

"You are jealous," Bob proclaimed, humming a happy little tune.

"No one asked you!"

"I can seeeeee it, Dresden."

"Stop looking."

"I can't! It's like a train crash about to happen. Geez, boss..."

"Bob…" he warned.

"You realize there's no need. Well, rationally you might know."

Harry screwed his eyes shut, breathing loudly through his teeth.

"He's your better half. I mean, there would have been reason for it if not for the mind-melting sex. I don't think Johnny-boy is such a player. And you…?" He sniggered. "We all know your response to someone hitting on you is complete obliviousness. Worked for you for five long, long years."

Harry paged through a book, grimacing. "We're not exclusive."

"You're not…" Bob made a choking sound, then laughed almost manically. "Oh, you young wizards! You make me pee myself! Not exclusive! Have you been reading Cosmo again?"

"I am going to get the hammer!"

"This is good!" the skull continued, bouncing around. "So good! I bet White Courts wouldn't be able to touch you with a really long stick with the love thing you have going! You're glowing, I told you! Brightly! You are head over heels and you are jealous, Dresden. Jealous!"

"Last warning!" he growled.

"He loves you, Dresden! That man has it so, so bad for you! Just like you have it for him! And you're really jealous of some girl!" The last ended in a squeal as the hammer sailed by and harmlessly hit the wall.

"Business, Bob! Haunting but not a ghost!"

The giggling continued, but at least Harry managed to get the tracking spell to work with the few scraps he had found that was evidence to the woman's claims that something was there and had apparently followed her from hotel to hotel in Chicago ever since she had arrived.

He refused to confront his emotions. They were childish, unfounded, and completely irrational.

In the end it was something that looked like a wet tribble and was called a name Harry had trouble reading or pronouncing. He decided to name it Edna. Edna was actually quite harmless, rather stupid, and had a tendency to wander out of the Nevernever and not find a way back home. So it followed humans around that it found interesting. It wasn't hard to stun and send back into its natural habitat.

*

Despite Bob's proclamation that he glowed with his newfound sex-life, no one actually gave him another look. No one mentioned any glowing.

Harry muttered uncomplimentary things about air spirits that were little shits. Marcone just laughed when he told him. They hadn't seen each other for close to a week, both caught up in their own business, with Harry doing his best to attract paying cases and turning away those who thought he was a circus act or someone to hire for a birthday party.

"Do you want to glow?" he asked as they lounged in the living room of the townhouse.

The wards were starting to be empowered by a sense of home, not just a residence they shared. Harry had poured his own magic into the wards again and again, woven it all together, and by now it was… really private. And strong.

"No!"

"Hm, good. Me neither." Marcone slanted a look at him.

He was still wearing his charcoal suit pants, light gray shirt and equally charcoal waistcoat. His feet were up on the couch table and he looked absolutely relaxed, despite the clothes Harry would find too uncomfortable for the occasion. Fact was, the man looked delicious in them.

"How was your case at the Warwick?"

Dresden blinked at him. "Uh, what?"

The calm eyes reflected amusement and the man’s mouth quirked in a brief smile; so brief, it might have been wishful thinking.

"My men saw you at the Warwick Allerton Hotel a few days ago and reported it to me. Since there was no fire alarm, police storming in, or something of the like, I believe it was a milder case?"

"Haunting. How was your date?" Harry asked coolly.

He suddenly had Marcone's full attention, the expression sharp, eyes boring into him. The man hadn't moved, but it felt like he had. Somehow. This singular attention was truly unnerving.

"Her name is Gillian South. She is employed at Executive Priority Health and also functions as a bodyguard when my men are too… obvious. You could call her one of my more… exclusive troubleshooters. Miss South has taken advanced acting classes, which always pay off on such occasions, is knowledgeable in martial arts and carries weapons in places you don't want to know about. She has never shared my bed. So, yes, she was a professional date, but of no personal interest. I do not mix business with pleasure when it comes to my employees."

Dresden froze at the calmly delivered explanation and choked out a vowel, then his brain caught up to the actual contents and meaning. "Er, ah, I…" he stammered.

Marcone raised his eyebrows. "Were you jealous, Mr. Dresden? Of my bodyguard?" he asked quietly.

"I… no! No, of course not!"

The expression became downright predatory. The smile was almost wicked. "You were never interested in any of my companions before. Male or female."

"I'm not interested!" Harry knew he sounded petulant. "It was just a question!"

Marcone sat up, feet sliding off the coffee table. How the man could move to fluidly, effortlessly, was beyond Dresden. "I am very… exclusive when in a relationship. Committed. Especially to a certain wizard who can be such an oblivious moron sometimes that I have to wonder how he actually made it through his life to this point."

Dresden made a noise of protest.

Marcone's whole presence was overpowering, so incredibly intense, it had Harry swallow.

"Do you have idea how women and also men look at you?" John asked with not just a little bit of teasing. "How the world perceives you?"

"Annoying? Permanently broke? One step away from homelessness?" he answered flippantly. He knew he drew looks, stood out, but for different reasons.

"That is a matter of your choice of dress and your profession."

"It's protective gear! And I'm good at my job!"

"Yes," Marcone nodded. "You are. Extremely good."

Harry gave him a so-there look.

"And your style of clothing hides quite an interesting catch."

"I'm not even close to a catch! I'm the scrawny fish you throw back into the sea!"

"If I didn't know you," came the low purr, "I'd say you're fishing for compliments. You are gorgeous, Harry."

Something spread through Dresden at the words, leaving a fiery trail that had nothing to do with magic. The way John looked at him, not just now but always, especially when they became more intimate, was one of open admiration and hunger. He had told Harry several times in the past that he liked what he saw, that he wanted him, that he was turned on by him, and not just because of the magic. That was a new development that Dresden himself couldn't explain because he hadn't ignited visible magic when things got hot and serious in the past.

"If you like he scarecrow look," he muttered.

"You're not a scarecrow. Lean. Sinewy. Appealing. Absolutely delicious," Marcone rumbled. "You are mine and whoever is in my company pales next to you."

John’s voice was smooth and silky, dark and deep. Okay, now it was going for hot and heavy seduction. Trying to keep his hands on the wheel of this particular ride, Harry straddled him in a less than graceful move. Only John seemed to be able to pull that off without looking like an uncoordinated dork.

Green eyes reflected emotions that shot straight through Dresden's spine, a deep passion and love. Broad hands ran up Harry's sides, eliciting little frissions of desire. Something curled in his stomach. Warm and longing and intense.

The kiss was almost reverent, a light touch, a bare-whisper of a connection, and it told Harry so much about the deeply rooted emotions. The intimacy between them was nothing he had experienced with either Elaine or Susan, or even Luccio. It was deeper, routed within what they fundamentally were, and it had him breathless and wondering how he could be so lucky.

This had never been about sex; not solely anyway. It was a complicated connection that couldn’t be put into many words. It was a web woven between them, unbreakable, unexplainable, and for life. The emotions between them were real.

The green eyes were pale and intense. Intense and powerful and looking right into Dresden's soul.

“Do you understand, Harry?” Marcone whispered roughly, cupping his face and dragging a gentle thumb over his skin. "I would gladly show you off to everyone and anyone, but this is about more than mere wishes. We are both aware that it can't be. It won't change anything about what we are, who you are."

"Guess it took a while."

"You're not used to being jealous." The hands kept up their warm caress.

"Not much experience."

"I'm flattered then," Marcone murmured, voice filled with gentle teasing. "I hope you believe I have told you the truth."

"Yeah. Sorry."

"I'm not. You are very… intense when your emotions go out of control, Mr. Dresden. I like that intensity."

Harry kissed him hard, the hot flare back.

So maybe their little make-out session turned into some really passionate sex, Harry claiming his shield with a fervor that even surprised him. Maybe it was true that he felt jealousy, because Marcone was his and his alone. They were the only match. He didn't want to lose that and while his rational mind told him he was unreasonable, instinct refused to listen, fingers stuffed in its ears and going la-la-la.

Yes, Harry Dresden was a mess of issues and a complicated history of repeated loss and not just one betrayal. It had shaped him into the man he was today.

This time one of the wards actually shorted out and the stereo frizzed.

Marcone had a few interesting marks to show, but they would disappear underneath his business armor anyway. Maybe Bob had been right that he might need a while to get control of his emotions. Harry hoped it was an exaggeration and Bob being Bob.

John Marcone was a man who always had himself under control, keeping the world guessing as to who he really was. His mind was a steel trap, his soul that of a man who loved order and being in control. It was why he was such a perfect match, why his energy meshed on all levels, and why he managed to anchor Harry so completely.

Marcone looked highly satisfied and just a little bit amused. "I love it when you let go," he murmured. "You are amazing, Harry. Wild and free. The magic feels… incredible. You are incredible."

He wanted to call him a sweet talker, but this wasn't just… that. Not just compliments or phrases. John meant it. Whole-heartedly. He saw it in his expression, the way he looked at him.

"I could blow this place up…"

"One stereo. Considering you did a lot more damage with less of a temper… it's progress. Progress I appreciate. My insurance rates have skyrocketed because of a certain wizard and his affinity to fire."

"Mock the poor wizard," he muttered,

"I never would."

"My life is you mocking me, Marcone."

"Hm, I'd have called it flirting, but your perception is sometimes a little warped. Of me, yourself, and out interactions. Or people I am seen with."

Another hot surge and fine tendrils of magical energy whispered over their skin. Harry groaned and buried his head against John's neck.

"I hate you."

"Hm, I know," came the murmur, filled with a million emotions and promises.

*

Nothing had changed, really.

But everything was different anyway.

Things didn't actually smooth over and the world didn't just forget about Wizard Harry Dresden. It never did. Harry was simply too accomplished to piss off powerful forces that tried to take a hold in Chicago.

He didn't radiate the shield bond, but people who knew him noticed he was more laid back and at ease, as opposed to high-strung and always on the run. He still had a temper, but his magic was no longer erratically following those emotional flares.

Thomas was the first to discover the truth – actually, Dresden finally told him, reasoning that even though he was a Raith, he had nothing to gain from telling others. It was the first time Harry Dresden saw a White Court vampire stare flabbergasted and absolutely gob-smacked stunned at him.

"Holy crap on a cracker!" his brother breathed.

Harry shrugged.

"You and Marcone? Not much of a shocking revelation, but you have a shield? You're that much of a heavy hitter that you have a shield?! Harry…!"

"What do you mean, it's not much of a revelation?" he demanded.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "You and that guy were really all over each other. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. And I would know all about that." He grinned. "I didn't think anything would come out of it. You being you."

"Hey!"

"You can be the most oblivious of people I know, oh brother of mine."

"Am not!"

"You and him? You bitched about him all the time! You complained, you ranted… You might have been in denial about which way you wanted to swing, though that's kind of a moot point when it comes to magic-wielders and the supernatural, but Harry Dresden is nothing if not stubborn and really slow when it comes to matters of personal emotions."

"HEY!" he shouted again.

"Oh, and you got it so bad!"

Yes, he had. John was… amazingly perfect.

Their connection was completely interwoven, not simply a strand or two. It was a connection between their souls, one that hadn’t required the sexual component. That had been… the delicious topping to an amazing cake.

Thomas smirked, then grew a little more serious again. "A simply knock on the head didn't get through that thick skull. I'm impressed. Really. Having a wizard as a little brother is something already, but to have someone who rivals the Merlin in power?" He whistled.

Harry almost shuffled his feet. "I'm not…"

"You are. Hence the anchor. And shield. And whatever freaky weird magic thing you pulled off. I didn't even get a sense of you getting laid until you just told me. And we Whites know." He tapped his nose.

Yes, Harry knew White Court vampires were freakishly good in detecting an active or not so active sex life. It was their livelihood after all. So Bob had really been a little shit and just teased him.

"What you wanna bet I'd blister all over my face should I try to kiss you?"

Harry grimaced. "Ew, no, do not ever say that again!" She shivered theatrically. "I do so not want to think about that! You're my brother!"

Thomas chuckled. "Big, big blisters. Really. I think Chicago's going to become an interesting place," the vampire remarked thoughtfully as he leaned back, beer in hand. "Not now. In a few years, maybe decades…"

"I'm not going to take over the city!"

"Nope," he agreed. "Not your style. But just knowing there's a wizard with that much firepower around… anchored and shielded… it will send a lot of scum running. Crazy warlock? Sure. You expect that. Demon? Power-hungry worshippers of ancient unspeakable things? Any day of the week. But you?"

"Thanks," Harry replied wryly and pushed the rest of the six-pack out of Thomas's reach with one foot.

"What's family for?"

"This isn't going public. More scum trying to take a piece out of me? No thanks. If one word leaks, Thomas…"

He raised his hands. "Nuh-uh. Not breathing a word of this. I'll just sit back and enjoy the show."

Harry glared at him.

"Does Mab know what happened to her so coveted mortal champion?"

"Nope."

Thomas' grin was too much teeth and really way too much glee now. "This is going to be such fun!"

Harry just glowered at him some more, but part of him was breathing easier with having his brother in the know and accepting his choices.

*

Michael Carpenter was next. Harry didn't have to tell him, but he trusted the man absolutely and he knew a word given by the Knight of the Cross meant something. He wouldn't tell a soul, keep the secret to his death if need be.

He was actually rather calm and laid-back, as if he had always known. From his expression, Harry wondered whether or not his friend actually had known for a lot longer than he had suspected. Thomas had already told him it had been rather obvious to him, but then again, he was a sex vampire.

His revelation and explanation got him a heavy hand clasping his shoulder and squeezing hard. "I am happy for you, my friend."

"You are?"

"In the eyes of the Lord you have your Destiny."

_Right._

"And you fit," Michael added with a rather unholy light in his eyes.

_Riiiight…_

"There would be no connection between you otherwise, Harry. If Marcone is the shield and anchor you need, he is the one for you."

"You do know who John Marcone is, right?" he blurted.

"Of course. I also know there is never just black and white. We both know it. There are many layers to him," Michael said calmly. The look he gave Harry suggested he was a particularly stubborn and very stupid child at the moment. "He is more than what the public eye sees. I have seen him fight by your side, against creatures of dark and evil. He risked his life and suffered pain and loss himself."

"Uh?"

"He is not evil. I cannot sanction his trade, but I can accept that his kind are necessary to keep true darkness away."

_Okay…_

"Despite what you have told me about wizards of your strength needing and finding a shield, I sincerely doubt you would have found it in him if John was your opposite in every way." Michael gave him a calm, serious look. "Appearances are very deceiving of the truth within a soul."

He made an agreeing noise.

"To be your counterbalance, he has an inner strength to match you; nothing else matters."

"Uhm, yeah…"

Michael nodded. "When you feel comfortable enough, bring him along for dinner."

_What?!_

"Michael, I don't think that's a good idea…" Harry stammered.

"I think it's a wonderful idea."

"You would," Harry muttered, wondering what kitchen utensil Charity Carpenter would threaten Marcone with.

"He will be welcome as your shield, Harry Dresden. Your partner. No matter who he is to the outside world, he is important to you, chosen by you, and he is our ally."

"Uhm…"

Michael's expression was warm and open, completely accepting.

"Thanks? I'll… I'll talk to John. You just hide all the sharp knives from Charity when we come by."

It got him a booming laugh.

tbc..


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've officially given up writing just some Dresden/Marcone scenes to appease my brain. This has become a world of its own, developing so quickly into a massive fic, I'm waving the white flag and just keep going. 
> 
> Anyway, I wanted to avoid tackling some of the characters I can't really get a hang of and who I also never really liked, but here I am... writing Lea. *sighs*
> 
> Can I do an estimate on chapters to come? Nope! Not falling for that trap again. I won't. Let's just say it's more than two and less than twenty. I'm in a zone right now and so happy for a) vacation time and b) cancelled holiday plans and time to writewritewrite. It's bad when I get whole scenes pop up while driving and listening to music, refusing to leave me alone, let alone think about anything else.
> 
> Okay, enough rambling, off to some big chunk of fic to read! Let me know if I messed up Lea... she's a tough character to write.

He didn't tell Murphy for a very long time and he hadn't really planned to. While he trusted her not to shoot him right on the spot, Lieutenant Karrin Murphy was an officer of the law. That meant it was her job to get people like John Marcone behind bars, a feat she hadn't managed yet. Bigger and a lot badder departments had tried, right down to organized crime units. Nothing could stick to Marcone and never would. So while lying to Murphy hadn't sat well with Dresden, he had lied. Well, he had omitted the latest change in his relationship status. That was him in a nutshell: obfuscation, circumvention of the truth, throwing inane comments around, baffle the audience and keep them off track.

But Murphy had known him way too long, knew too much about him, and she called bullshit most of the time. From the way she looked at him, she knew something was up. Especially since his clashes with Marcone had dwindled to zero and he no longer complained so much about him.

Murphy cornered him one late evening and Harry knew it was either give her the truth or lose her completely. He might lose her anyway. Well, he could try with half of the truth first, ease her in. Though starting with 'you see, we're kinda together, like an item, just way more complicated' might not have been the best description. Then again, how could he describe them?

"So you're in bed with the mob," she said evenly.

"Uh…no?"

"You are sleeping with the head of a criminal organization!"

"Uhm…"

"The mafia, Dresden! The damned mafia! Are you out of your mind? What does he have on you?"

"Have…? Stars and Stones, Murphy! Do you really think I'd sleep with someone because I'm being blackmailed into it?"

Okay, he sounded rather hurt. And it did hurt. He had known Murphy for a long time. He had thought she wouldn't just jump to conclusions.

Her dark look said it all.

Well, yes, he had always been rather outspoken in his dislike for Marcone and his criminal business; a business the police had nothing on because it was guarded and defended by a barrage of lawyers that earned quite a dime. He was still outspoken about that, the criminal part, but sniping at Marcone in the past had been fueled less by hatred than… yeah, okay, Bob called it flirting, but Harry wouldn't go that far. Even if it was true; which he would never own up to. Ever!

"I don't care one bit that you're sleeping with a man, Dresden, but I'm very… concerned that it's a scumbag like Marcone!"

He couldn't argue with that either. "It's… complicated."

She crossed her arms, giving him a look that would freeze even the hardest of criminals.

"And it has something to do with my magic?"

The expression didn't change.

"It has since the beginning," he tried.

"More words, Dresden!"

So Harry explained it in simple terms, not going into too much detail, but it didn't seem to change Murphy's opinion. Her scowl was frightful and the way she glared at him, Harry counted himself lucky she hadn't handcuffed him yet.

"What I said," she remarked. "He has something on you. Now it's also magic stuff."

"It doesn't work that way, Murphy," he said with waning patience. "We wouldn't be connected if we weren't a fit. And no, it can't be manipulated into making it a perfect fit either. He can't control me!"

"Marcone means something to you, which in turn means it can be exploited. By him. By whatever crawls out of the sewers to take over his empire. You painted a target on your back! Not just when it comes to hostile takeover attempts, but also when it comes to law enforcement, Harry!"

"It doesn't work that way," he hissed, teeth clenched. "It's not mind-control! I'm not on his payroll. I'm not an employee. And I'm not in bed with the mob!"

"Just Gentleman Marcone?"

"Yes, I'm sleeping with John."

"Same difference, Dresden. He is the same person!"

Harry gave up.

Could he overlook or ignore what Marcone's business was any better than a few months ago? No. He never had and never would be able to. But he had come to accept the fact that it was necessary and that the alternative was no alternative at all. Marcone's power base was that of his illegal and criminal syndicate, but he used it in a way that Harry found the least objectionable.

He was struggling with it now and then. They got into arguments about how Marcone handled matters, and he despised the drug business, but at least those dealers present in Chicago didn't cut their stuff that it killed people.

And selling drugs to kids was as good as a death sentence to one's illegal side business. Anyone caught by Marcone's men was quickly made an example off, lucky to get out of it with some bruises and the loss of his product. The unlucky ones never reappeared.

The women and men working in the prostitution business run by Marcone were absolutely safe, their clients screened, and abuse was not tolerated. They had health insurance and even a pension should they retire or choose another profession. It boggled the mind, but it was a normal business that even paid tax.

Anyone trying to poach on Chicago territory was dealt with swiftly and finally. John Marcone ran his enterprise with an iron fist and anyone attempting to move in on it was discouraged. His men were absolutely loyal, the best paid in the business, and all knew about the world of the supernatural.

He protected his people.

Like he protected Harry in his role as a shield.

The lines had always been pretty blurry, but by now they were indistinguishable. There was so much going on, so much bleeding together from the magical into the mundane and vice versa, he couldn't put either John or himself into a handy category. Dresden had done some horrible things himself, things that looked even worse from a cop's point of view, things that had gotten him into deep, deep trouble in the Nevernever.

They would never see eye to eye on some matters, while being completely in sync when facing down a supernatural threat to the city. Harry knew he couldn't change the man, that what he represented would never be eradicated, only controlled, and what he was was also exactly what Harry needed as his balance. Marcone fought the mundane monsters, had become one in the eyes of the law, but he also did good. Not just to maintain a cover; no, he was very much invested in some of his charities. And he was deeply invested in Chicago. He did what he deemed necessary.

That he also fought off the not so mundane monsters was something that had come with the Freehold, with his position, and a protective instinct that went beyond a mortal's normal instincts.

Murphy had grudgingly accepted that Marcone and his men had been helpful in the past, fighting off the supernatural in all shapes and sizes, keeping Chicago from becoming infested with them or falling to their manipulations and hunger. This more personal angle was raising her hackles and was clearly going against her cop nature.

"You really want it to look like you are associating with him?" she now demanded.

"I am associated with him, Murph! We have been connected for over five years! We've been seen countless times, on opposite sides and fighting together! It won't change! I'm not working for him!"

"Suit yourself, Dresden," she grunted. "You know I can't continue having a man affiliated with a known mobster on the PD's payroll, right?"

Harry froze, breath catching briefly. "Murph?"

"We're the police, Harry! We don't work with criminal scumbags that control half the city!"

All the city, actually, Harry thought faintly. And keeping it safer than it has ever been before. Yes, blurry, blurry lines.

"I understand," he whispered.

"Good."

And then she stalked off.

*

For the next few weeks Murphy gave him the cold shoulder, barely acknowledging his presence when they ran into each other, as was inevitable on some of his cases. Harry worried that he might have blown everything to pieces. As much as it hurt to be treated like pond scum, he knew Murphy couldn't be connected to the mob. It had been bad enough for her already to bring a so-called wizard in.

Yes, she did come around to be on talking terms again, but there was a distance, a wariness, despite the fact that she never saw Marcone in Harry's presence in any other role or function than what John called 'a concerned citizen'.

Especially when one of Marcone's holdings went up in fire and flames.

Not Harry's fault. He hadn't even been close to the property in question and it sure as hell hadn't been his magic setting off whatever it was that had blown.

John had given him this tolerant look, probably trying not to laugh as Harry had rambled about circumstantial evidence and making presumptions just because someone had seen him in the vicinity.

He tried to talk to her again, laying out the facts that yes, Marcone's organization did illegal things, but compared to what Harry had seen in his time as a wizard, it was hardly in league with the really dark things, like the Nevernever could hold. Or like wizards who had turned to black magic, to an evil Harry had never before that day seen in his young life. He had faced truly horrible things, in human and no so human form, had seen corruption of an order that made every dirty politician a do-gooder in comparison.

Did it make Marcone innocent? No. He was far from it. But he was more of a gray-scale than the really darker shades of black.

"Just keep it separate from your work," had been all Murphy had said. "I can't protect you from our law if you get involved in that side of him."

"I didn't ask you to. All I wanted was to tell you what he is to me, Murphy."

"Your magic's anchor and shield."

"Yes."

"If you cross the line, Dresden, I'm throwing the book at you so hard, it'll stick."

He nodded.

"And I won't hesitate to bring him down if there's an opportunity."

Another nod. There would never be one.

It was a truce of sorts. Harry knew it would be a rocky road from now on.

*

Harry Dresden was used to walking the so-called mean streets of Chicago at the dead of night when he was on a case, or coming back from a late night with Murphy or Thomas. The unsavory elements of mundane origins kept away from him. He was probably giving off vibes to warn them off. A few of the more adventurous, aided by drugs and/or alcohol, learned their lesson pretty fast.

The supernatural either ignored him or tried to take a bite out of him. Sometimes literally. Harry was used to it to a degree, though sometimes he wondered just how the crazy always found him.

Like a small-time wanna-be warlock whom he had caught trying to buy illegal potion ingredients off some shady black market dealer. Not that they weren't all shady, but this guy was also ripping off the noobs and the amateurs, substituting with cheap or useless parts, which meant serious consequences for potions with wrong ingredients.

Running into his Godmother on any given day of the week was never a good sign.

Running into his Godmother in a dank, dark back alley was really not a good sign.

Harry tried not to tense up, to show his displeasure at seeing the Leanansidhe right here and right now, and plastered a smile of fake politeness on his face.

"Lea. What a coincidence meeting you here. What do you want?"

Dressed in a flowing, ice blue dress that defied human laws as it flowed around her, her red hair perfectly coiffed, the golden eyes ethereal in her pale face, she smiled.

It gave him the creeps.

"Harry, my dear child, is that any way to greet your godmother after not coming to visit in such a long time?"

She sounded like she had expected him with tea and cookies. Harry wasn't fooled by the sugary sweetness of her voice, nor her exquisitely human appearance that would probably raise the blood pressure of many men.

"What do you want?" he repeated, not willing to play any kind of game.

Her terrifyingly sweet smile widened and Harry felt the hair on his neck stand on end. "I wanted to congratulate you on your union with your shield, godson."

"What?!" he blurted.

The smile was now absolutely inhuman and the golden eyes predatory. "I had hopes it would take a little longer, though. Maybe one lifespan more as it did for another pair with your power. It was so entertaining to watch. You always had a flair for the dramatic."

Harry struggled not to lose control, to panic, to blurt out something she could use against him. Faeries were rather adept at word plays and the twisting of meaning and literal speech. It was one reason why his Godmother did what she to protect him, at the cost of his own loss of humanity or his life-debt as a Winter Knight.

The way they lived for and guarded information Harry knew that the not so innocently or accidentally dropped words about another bonded pair meant something.

"You… knew?" he finally managed.

Okay, so he wasn't at his best right now. Just the thought that Lea knew about his connection to Marcone, what he meant to the powerful young wizard, was enough to freeze the blood in his veins without any help from Winter at all. Sidhe thrived on manipulation and mischief.

She tutted. "Harry, child, a godmother knows. You are such a wonderful specimen, so powerful, with such magical potential inside you, it was clear to me that you would find a bond-mate. I was simply surprised by who it was."

And from the way she looked, Lea hadn't liked that surprise. As a rule, the connection couldn't be detected by anyone but the wizard involved; not even a powerful Faerie like Lea. She might have had an eye out for whatever mundane crossed Harry's path if she had known about his growing magical potential, though.

"I might even have hoped for one less… accomplished and adept at Fae politics," she added, delicate eyebrows rising slightly, lips twisting in mirror of a human expression of a pout. She failed pulling it off and it looked off. "The Freeholding Lord. Power calls to power. He is such an interesting mortal and now he will be with you for the rest of your life, godson. In the end they are all just mortal, are they not?"

Harry felt magic pool around his hands, seeping into his blasting rod and lighting up the sigils and runes a fiery red.

The Leanansidhe ignored the warning. Dresden sincerely doubted he could do more than maybe punch her across the alley once before things really turned crap for him.

"If you dare touch him…"

She was suddenly right in his face, ice cold fingers brushing over his cheek and leaving a fine sheet of frost on his skin. Her allure was overpowering this close, touching him in a way that had him want to run and throw himself into her arms at the same time.

"Oh, it is irksome to lose such a wonderful Knight as you, Harry Dresden. You would have made an amazing hound as well, so full of passion, life and sheer energy. I weep for my loss, dear. I hope he knows what he has won, the mortal Lord. I would have given you eternity."

Right. As if he really could believe her heartbreak. His skin stung with the cold and he was fighting the allure with every scrap of willpower.

"You'll find a new toy to chew on," he growled.

She laughed. It sounded like icicles clinking together in a breeze on a winter night, coming from ruby red lips. The Leanansidhe stepped back, each movement unnatural, inhuman.

"You have power, my sweet child. You have it all at your disposal. It will be so entertaining to watch you grow into what you can be, with him by your side. Now, let me take back what is mine."

She hardly made much a gesture, but to Harry it felt like she had ripped off a piece of duct tape from skin, pulling out a lot of hair and maybe the upper layer of his dermis.

The mantle was gone. Just like that.

"Don't forget to pay me a visit sometimes, Harry dear. Your godmother misses you. I delight in your presence."

He refused to confirm or deny. He knew her games. And then she was gone.

Harry exhaled sharply, willing down his magic.

Okay, so that particular cat was now out of the bag, too. A cat the size and shape of a malk. Wonderful. Just wonderful!

*

"So you had a visit from your Fairy Godmother."

Harry stopped pacing up and down the length of the office and glared at him; it only made John's smile grow. He was way too amused about this.

"Yes! And she knew! She knew about us!"

"I would have expected a reaction sooner, actually."

"What?!"

It got him a pointed look and Harry exhaled sharply.

"Stars and Stones, John! She knew I might have a shield and anchor one day!"

"She is a Higher Sidhe and you are a powerful wizard in the making. Winter and Summer always held great interest in your person."

He grimaced. "Not always for the reasons you think."

"But you made it onto their radar, so to speak. You stood out."

Harry groaned. He knew he had always been in the thick of things, had defied powerful supernatural beings, actually kicking butt sometimes, and he knew his mother had been a known visitor, walking the Ways like no one before her. And she had made a deal with the Leanansidhe that had been a little too open for interpretation. When you are about to die, some details slip by.

"She has no more hold over you, Harry," John reminded him in that calm, reasonable business voice of his. "She manipulated your life up until now. That's over." The last was said with a cold ruthlessness that reflected the Baron.

He clenched his teeth. Dresden knew not to trust appearances and she had been way too calm and accommodating about it all. Going into Winter, let alone Summer, for any reason was currently ill-advised, and he wouldn't put it past her or anyone else of either Court to trip him into the Nevernever by accident. For now, Harry decided he would rather take the detour than the straight Way. He had yet to be summoned anywhere, especially Edinburgh and the seat of the White Council, so travelling was restricted to Chicago and maybe the immediate area of the Freehold. Nothing he needed a short-cut through the Nevernever for.

"She has no power over me either," Marcone continued, hands folded over the desk, as if he was talking to his roomful of executives and lawyers. "She would break the Accords if she tried to take me out. Not to mention that I do have precautionary measures in place."

"I wouldn't count on them working," Dresden growled, pacing again. His magic was churning just below his sternum and it was a heady and also dangerous feeling.

"Harry."

He stopped and looked at Marcone, feeling the gentle pull of the anchor, keeping him from maybe shorting out one of the protective wards and with it half the copiers on this floor.

"She mentioned another pair?" John prompted.

"Uhm. That. Yes."

"Why?"

Ah, so John had picked up on that, too.

"To taunt me? To get me to do something really stupid?"

Dark brows rose mockingly. "As if she would have to help you with that."

"Asshole," he muttered, but not unkindly.

Marcone rose gracefully, walking around the desk, and Harry tried not to let his mind wander just how good John looked in that crisp, gray suit. He moved fluidly, easily, prowling even though he wasn’t on a hunt.

"She cannot break this, correct?"

He nodded.

"Or influence the anchor?"

Harry shook his head. "She could take you, John."

"And risk retaliation?"

He grimaced. "Lea knows how to make it look like you voluntarily skipped into Winter with a smile on your lips and a bow on your head."

"Why would she?" was the reasonable, matter-of-fact question.

"To play with me? Torture me and call it teaching a lesson? To entertain herself?"

Marcone gave him a silent look, like prodding a student into thinking it through without giving them another clue.

Harry had no idea what entertained the Leanansidhe, or half the Winter Court for that matter; she was simply too interested in his life sometimes. He forced himself to relax.

"She took back the mantle?" Marcone asked calmly.

"Yeah."

"Good." There was a spike of fierce possessiveness. Harry knew the other man hadn't liked that there was still a connection to his old debt to Winter.

"You really are a possessive bastard," Harry teased.

The green eyes reflected a fire Dresden had seen before. "Quite," Marcone answered, voice low and hard, hitting a spot in Harry that had an equal fire pool inside his belly. "Make no mistake, I have my alliances in place," he continued in that tone of voice. "The Winter Queen would not look kindly upon any transgression by her Court towards me or mine. Nor would Summer want to tackle the political maze of an offense against the Freehold and its Baron. You were already part of my city, Mr. Dresden. Now you are so much more."

He stared at the other man. "You… you have an oath from Mab?" _And Titania?_ a hysterically sounding voice inside him shrieked.

John gave him an indulgent smile. "I am not beholden to either Court. I am still a Freeholding Lord and your shield and anchor, as such I cannot be indebted."

"But…"

"Politics are powerful, Harry."

And Harry hated them. Politics were something that gave him hives. Too many toes to watch out for not to step on, too many powder kegs, too many convoluted paragraphs of words he knew but whose meaning in that sentence escaped him. That was something Marcone was really good at; it was like he spoke a foreign language.

"Neither Faerie Court has a hold on you. Any attempt by affiliates to remove me or you will be seen as an act of war, and believe me, Harry, my lawyers have proof-read those terms to the last dotted i."

"When did that happen?" Harry asked faintly.

John reached out and smoothed his hand over the black T-shirt Dresden was wearing, his touch leaving a warm trail. "Right after I left your place."

"Uhm…?"

"After you acknowledged our connection and stopped fighting it."

Before they had even taken the last step into a more intimate, personal relationship?! Harry stared at him, gaped actually, mind stalling.

"I am your shield," Marcone reminded him gently, voice still relaying an unbreakable will and conviction. "I protect you."

"So you hammered out a treaty?" he blurted. "With both Courts?"

"Something of the like."

"But you didn't even know…" Harry gestured between them. "This. I mean, you know me…"

"Quite."

He swallowed hard, the implications enormous. Whenever he thought he had John Marcone figured out, he dropped a new bomb. And that was… this was the mother of all revelations!

"Harry," Marcone said patiently. "Even if our connection had remained platonic, which it really never had a snowball's chance, we are connected. I am your shield, no matter how close and intimate we might be. I anchor you, I protect you. You do belong to me, no matter how much you argue that term, and I am yours. I know of the potential you hold. I've seen it. It is within my power and ability to protect this; you and me."

"You are… insane!"

It got him a predatory smile. "So I have been told. It seems you have been reflecting back on me for a while now, Mr. Dresden. Five long years, actually."

"You… you…"

Harry refused to call Marcone's expression that of a pleased cat that had gotten more than one canary and the milk on top. Instead he pulled him into a hard kiss.

"You are impossible!" he whispered when they parted. "Insane! Out of your mind! Absolutely crazy!"

"No more than you."

"Who goes and hammers our some kind of contract-thing with the Faerie Courts after we hadn't even talked about what happened in my lab?!"

It garnered him a mild shrug.

Lea had called them an unexpected but powerful fit. Harry was starting to see her point. Mortals didn't just present some kind of non-aggression treaties to Sidhe! Or whatever this contract involved!

Marcone kissed him again, this time almost down and dirty, and Harry groaned as he fought the impulse to take it one step further. John's eyes reflected that passion and hunger, but also a shred of regret.

"I have a meeting in ten minutes," he said in a low voice. "As much as I would like to cancel it, it is important."

He nodded. "Case," he only managed, brain still blown from too much happening at once.

"Do be careful, Mr. Dresden."

"Don't patronize me!"

"I never have, Harry. I'm simply worried."

"I'm a big wizard."

"Hm, yes, you are."

Dresden opened his mouth, then shut it again, glaring at Marcone as the other man stepped back, just as someone knocked at the door.

Hendricks filled the whole door, staring hard at him, then transferring his gaze to his boss. "Your three o'clock has arrived."

"Good. You know your way out, Mr. Dresden." And with that he was gone, followed by his hulking shadow of a personal bodyguard.

Harry remained for maybe a minute longer, trying to get his thoughts into order, trying to digest what Marcone had done.

That would take a while.

It hadn't really settled in just yet.

Time to distract himself with a case.

tbc...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, it was time for whump...

He should have expected the attack to happen, but he hadn't. At least not so soon. And so blatantly obvious! Maybe because Marcone had a treaty with Mab, Harry hadn't been all too suspicious, but in hindsight, 20/20 as it was, it was so absolutely Lea.

Because she hadn't promised not to lay a finger on John.

Because the attacker was a wyldfae, not one associated with Winter.

Because the instigator was some criminal scumbag – not Marcone's – who had made an ill-begotten pact with the wyldfae, dreaming of grandeur and himself at the top of Marcone's empire when the man in charge was taken out of the picture.

And he hadn't expected it to coincide with an attack on his person by a sorcerer, who threw so much magic at Harry, his ears were still ringing. He had been buried underground, nearly been electrocuted, and then some dog-monster had tried to take a bite out of him. Not to mention that his head was killing him. Yes, he had had better days.

Standing in the private hospital room in the middle of the night, feeling exhausted and strung so tight he was about to snap, Harry felt his magic churn. Like acid in an empty stomach; painful, running on empty, still trying to boil over. His eyes were on the man currently sleeping in the single bed. The room was luxurious, not at all like a typical hospital room, and the private clinic was also not your typical hospital. It probably belonged to one of Marcone's many holdings or companies, or it lived from the generous donations, but Harry had no mind to appreciate the comfort of privacy and discreteness. The room was the only occupied one on this floor; just to make sure. Because they had expected a wizard who might interact adversely with the electronics in this place.

Outside, Marcone's men were guarding their injured boss, all armed to the teeth with both magical and mundane weapons. Hendricks, who had been thrown about by the attacking thing, was among them, looking bruised and battered and as angry as a stung bulldog. The look he had given Dresden would have dropped others dead on the spot.

Harry didn't need the silent accusations to feel guilty, even if it hadn't really been his fault. The guy with the ill-advised aspirations was dead, the summoned wyldfae had been banished back into the Nevernever, and aside from Marcone, no one had suffered more than bruises and some lacerations.

Because John had been the sole target. Everyone else had simply been in the way and ignored.

Harry expelled a shaky breath and got up, pacing. A tremor of energy rippled over his skin and he felt it dance along his fingers. Icy blue and ethereally glowing orange. He clenched his hands into fists, the sparks lighting up the semi-darkness. Elemental magic. Dangerous and beautiful, his last resort, and something that would probably knock him out within minutes of channeling it. He was in no state to use it right now.

"If you set the room on fire, you are going to sleep on the couch for the foreseeable future."

Harry whirled around and stared at the man on the bed. The awake man. Tired green eyes in a too pale and bruised face held his own, strong and unyielding even now. The man had a core of steel that kept catching Dresden unawares, a core that refused to bow or bend, that had never been broken.

Marcone had raised the headrest to get himself into a sitting position without putting too much pressure on his abused ribs. His mauled shoulder was thickly padded and immobilized.

"John…"

"Harry."

"You're awake," he blurted.

"Astute as ever."

Okay, his brain was a mess right now, even more than his magic, and when he closed the distance in two long strides, the shield expanded almost automatically.

"Stop," Marcone murmured, reaching for the closest hand and curling scraped fingers around one wrist without regard for a possible magical backlash.

The shield collapsed and Harry expelled a breath. "Sorry. Instinct."

The room was safe. Warded. Protected. Guarded. Nothing could get in and even if it did, Harry would slap it with everything he had and was. The need to give the wards even more protection had been overwhelming enough to have him react without thinking. Well, it was his standard MO anyway.

"Not your fault," Marcone told him calmly as if he was reading his mind.

He looked cruelly tired; in pain. The lines in his face weren't usually there and the dullness to the eyes reflected the pain-killers given to him. He had been in surgery and the IV line in one arm spoke lengths. He was fed a clear fluid, but no blood.

"I can name at least one person who doesn't share that opinion."

"Mr. Hendricks knows you are not to blame. This didn't come solely from your world, Mr. Dresden. It was as much part of mine."

"You and I both know that the guy was manipulated into this deal, using a wyldfae as to not associate them with either Court. It was one that could be defeated by your guys, without me present, and you could have gotten off a lot worse. This was a test!"

"I agree."

"Probably instigated by Lea."

"Possible."

"How can you be so… at ease about this?" he exploded.

He was losing control.

He was cracking, fraying at the edges.

Marcone shifted a little in his bed and winced, still holding on to Dresden's wrist. Harry hadn't reclaimed the limb because it actually anchored him more than he would confess to. When Marcone tugged a little, he followed easily.

"Sit," came the quiet request.

"John."

"You look ready to collapse. Sit down, Harry."

Yeah, well, he had been kept busy with his own problem of a completely magical nature and it had exhausted his energy quite a bit. Flinging shields and fire around was draining, even to a wizard who had so much more control now. Harry didn't make the mistake to think he was invincible or all-powerful. He was young, he was still learning, and the potential at his fingertips was just that: potential. Calling upon so much was taxing and right now, the migraine starting behind his eyes was giving him another clue. He had overdone it.

But John was worse off. With bruises all over his side and back, claw marks to his shoulder which had been stitched closed and tightly bandaged, and road burn from where he had been dragged down an alley by the wyldfae before his men had obliterated its form. Yes, Harry had been in worse shape than this and still fought creatures of the dark, but Dresden was a wizard and wizards were a hardy bunch who healed from a lot of stuff.

John raised Harry's hand and placed a soft kiss against the white knuckles, lips dry and slightly split. "Sit," he repeated a third time.

And Dresden sat. His muscles ached, his head was ready to explode, and he was still spoiling for a fight against an enemy that had already been dealt with. And confronting the Leanansidhe would only end in more pain. His pain. And probably some bad blood.

"Breathe," John added.

Something trembled deep inside him. Something desperately needing a rest, needing to simply shut down and recuperate.

"She tested you," he whispered and bowed his head over Marcone's grip, a wave of exhaustion almost making him dizzy. "It was all a game. To see how you handled yourself, what you would do, if you are worthy."

John gently extracted his hand and buried his battered fingers in the messy hair. Blunt nails dragged over his skull and he exhaled a shuddering breath. For a moment the sensation of a nail being driven between his eyes eased.

"Harry."

"Should have expected it," he continued the self-flagellation, voice muffled by the bedsheet. "I know her. I know how she thinks, how she works."

"She's a Fae. No one knows how they truly are."

"She almost told me in her own words that she would try something!" he snarled, shuddering as the fingers dragged over his scalp again.

"Possibly. I expected it. I always do. I am always a target."

The words were so calm, so clinically detached, Dresden raised his head abruptly and glared at the other man. It made the hammering pain behind his eyes turn into a battering ram. He winced.

"I am," Marcone repeated with endless patience. "So are you. This wasn't the first time and it won't be the last. It was a test under the guise of an upstart trying to take out the crime lord of Chicago. Underhanded, true, but very much how the Fae operate."

Harry closed his eyes and willed down another surge. His headache was almost blinding.

"Go home, get some rest. I'll be out of here tomorrow. This was simply to appease my personal physician."

Right. Harry knew how deep those claws had struck, how much blood Marcone had lost, and his arm was completely immobilized. Not to mention that moving around would be extremely painful. Knowing the man he would be back in his office bright and early tomorrow, bearing his injuries like a warrior's battle wounds. A victorious warrior. No weaknesses, Dresden remembered. To lay low would send the wrong signals.

Harry met the steady gaze, felt the strength the man radiated even now, and he felt himself react to it, to the shield that kept him contained and the anchor that grounded him.

"Promise me you won't do something stupid," Marcone broke the silence.

"Stupid?" he echoed.

"Do you want a list or will I only need your promise as my wizard that you won't go off on some kind of retaliation?" Even the laceration on his temple didn't stop the scowl.

"I'm not your wizard!" he grumbled automatically, but it packed no heat. He was too tired.

"You are. Mine. And I hate to scrape you off the pavement as much as you hate seeing me here. For once in your life, listen first."

He bristled briefly, which showed him just how close to the edge he really was. Control was going out the window.

"I want your promise, Mr. Dresden."

Damnit!

Harry deflated. "Okay, okay. You have it. I'll go home like a good little wizard. I won't go storming into the Nevernever to tear a certain Leanansidhe a new one."

"Good. I like you in one piece."

"Ditto."

John reached out with his good hand and Harry let himself get pulled into an almost chaste kiss that didn't aggravate the bruises too much.

When they separated and he turned, he found Hendricks standing in the room, face bland, but the look was there. How the man could have snuck in with his bulk, without Harry noticing, was beyond him. From the way Marcone smirked, he had been somehow aware of his bodyguard's presence.

Harry plastered a friendly smile on his face as he walked past Hendricks, who only gave him a half-grunt of recognition, passing through the warded door and into the equally protected hallway.

It came as no great surprise that he followed Dresden.

"I know the way out."

He got an impassive look. The bruises looked as spectacular as Marcone's and one eye had swollen a little shut. Hendricks moved stiffly as he accompanied Harry down the stairs – he didn't dare use the elevator, just in case, even if his shield was in the vicinity. Not chancing luck here. He was too much on edge.

"Listen, Hendricks… I'm sorry," he said when they finally arrived on the lower floor.

"Not your fault."

Harry blinked, feeling like those three words were like an absolution from John Marcone's personal bulldog slash bodyguard.

"You didn't sic that thing on him."

"Uhm, no, but I think I'm the reason someone went after him."

Hendricks' face broke into a terrifying smile that actually looked like he was amused. "People have been after Johnny Marcone long before you came into the picture."

"This wasn't 'people'!" he dug his own grave with gusto. "This was a wyldfae summoned by a guy who fell for the lies and promises!"

"Did you know that guy?"

"No!"

"Did you give him pointers how to do it?"

"No!"

"Did you actually plan to take out John Marcone? Using magic and some freakish faerie creature?"

Magic flared, colliding with the shield and sizzling ineffectively into nothingness. Harry briefly closed his eyes, felt himself exhale slowly, trying to gather his wits, his shields, his control. His hands were trembling a little and his mind was in turmoil.

"Do not ask me that again, Hendricks. Not when I'm one step away from blasting the next faerie to show their mug back into the deepest, darkest corner of the Nevernever!"

Hendricks looked actually intrigued, then gave him a pointed look. "I know you can be stupid sometimes, Dresden. Didn't think it could get worse. Actually, you set a new record."

That broke the spell.

"Hey!"

"This was a hit. We will find the man or men behind it. He wasn't operating on his own."

Harry felt a tremor run through him, fighting back the argument that this was also a Nevernever-related issue. A test by the Leanansidhe, because Mab had nothing to gain from killing the Baron of Chicago. Marcone's death would only result in retaliation.

"Go home. Sleep."

"You're not my mother!" he snapped.

"You're no use to him like this." Hendricks' narrowing eyes were a warning. "Go."

So Harry went, but not because the man had told him to.

In hindsight, it was one of the longest conversations the two men had ever had.

He slept hardly at all that night, but at least the headache disappeared.

It didn't help that Bob was absolutely on Marcone's side of the argument that he didn't need to do something really stupid.

"She'll wipe the floor with you, Harry," the skull reminded him urgently. "And whatever you say, it's moot. Absolutely idiotically moot. There is nothing linking the attack to Winter or one particular person."

"I know."

"Then put it in a box and set the box on fire. End of story."

"She dared to attack him, Bob!"

It sounded like every letter in that sentence hurt. Like chewing on broken glass and barbed wire.

"Nope."

Harry glared, seething.

"Harry, you and I both know that this is nothing but circumstantial evidence and wouldn't hold up even in a mortal courtroom. Do yourself and your shield in favor, forget it. Use what Marcone gives you: balance. She's testing you, right? You said so yourself. She's testing his strength, his influence, his anchor! You understand the word, right?"

Dresden deflated a little. Yes. Yes, he did. He understood and he knew that without John to put a big damper on it, he might have flown off the handle and had done something absolutely stupid, like storm into the Nevernever and get his ass handed to him.

"Get some sleep, then mother-hen tomorrow."

"I'm not…!"

Bob cackled as he broke off and just stomped back upstairs.

*

He went to the hospital the next morning, but Marcone was already gone. Of course he was. Damn that man!

He found him in his office, looking as impeccable as ever, not a hair out of place, and aside from the bruises there was no sign of a more grave or painful injury. The man had to be hurting!

Harry glared at him and as usual, it glanced off the well-polished armor.

"Mr. Dresden."

"Marcone," he gnashed. "What are you doing here?"

"Working."

He leaned back, each move carefully measured, but he didn't show discomfort or pain. He had the mask on, that charming, aloof arrogance that deflected from the sharp mind behind that facade. He was in absolute control, and it was one of those moments Dresden knew that if John Marcone had been born a wizard, he would have been a terrifyingly powerful one. His control was something some wizards could only dream of.

"As I told you I would. I do have a business to run."

There was no one else in the room with them. It had been a major admission on Hendricks' part that he didn't linger anymore when Harry Dresden stormed inside, looking like he was about to set the office on fire. There was no danger of the wizard hurting Marcone; that was the furthest from his mind.

Harry stopped on the other side of the desk, hands clenched around his blasting stick, silently counting to ten. Of course he had known; and of course he had ignored that knowledge.

"John, you were seriously hurt yesterday," he implored.

"So I have been told by my physician and Mr. Hendricks. In my profession it won't do to lay back and lick one's wounds. The man responsible might have been working for some of my… competitors. Not showing up here, not showing myself, would be an open invitation." He steepled his fingers. Harry's eyes were drawn to the blatantly visible scrapes. It got him a small smile. "My men are already looking into a possible backer. I trust they will find someone. This wasn't some fanatic's kamikaze mission."

"Let me help."

"You have your side, I have mine," he reminded him with a calm that was only the calm before a storm of enormous proportions. "This is my side, Mr. Dresden."

"The hell it is! This wasn't one-sided! This was a collaboration and it was not just to hit you, John! It was to hit both of us!"

"And I am taking care of it."

There was a glint, a dangerous edge, something that shone through for those who knew what to look for. He could be charming and suave, but he was a killer underneath, an apex predator.

Marcone got up and only because Harry knew him so well did he see the slight hitch, the way he favored his mauled shoulder. No one else would ever see this weakness. There was this core of steel, a ramrod straight line of power running through his very center, and that need to power through what could have destroyed lesser men. He had seen it so often before, but it had never hit as profoundly as now.

John needed rest.

He needed something for the pain.

"I'm crap at healing magic," Dresden whispered as he closed the distance and stopped the other man from moving closer. His hand feathered over the mistreated shoulder, magic swirling over his fingers and along the lines of John's body.

"I'm quite aware of it," was the low answer.

At least the little he could do eased the strain, like an ibuprofen to take the edge off. Marcone wrapped his good arm around Harry's waist, the hug unexpected but so, so good. Dresden allowed himself a little breath of a whine, refusing to call it that at all cost.

"You made a promise, Mr. Dresden," Marcone reminded him.

He was too pale for Harry's liking, but the fire he saw burning in the green eyes was far from diminishing.

"And I'll stick to it."

"This part concerns only me. Something you will have no part of."

He swallowed. "John…"

"No. Part."

He silently seethed, aware that Marcone dealing with this meant someone might end up losing anything from his business, business partners, to his life.

"A kill is only the last solution," Marcone said reasonably. "I have other methods to make my displeasure known to those responsible." John kissed him, gently, without urgency or pressure. "I would not object to a more… personal evaluation of my current state of security in my home, though."

He took the hint. He had to ignore the part about possibly-not-killing-the-rival. It was the reminder, clear and simple.

"Deal," Harry muttered.

"Deal," Marcone echoed.

tbc...


	12. Chapter 12

Harry walked into John's private home – not the representative estate – feeling the brush of the wards as he stepped over the townhouse's threshold. The response of his own magic was like a dragon stretching and purring fire, claws digging into the ground and wings unfurling with a crackle and pop. He immediately murmured a tiny incantation to check the strength and resilience. It chimed in tune with his magic and he wrapped a few more sigils into the existing protection, just to be sure.

Marcone watched him with an indulgent smile, that patient amusement that always came forth when Harry Dresden did something unexpected but yet so very much him. He was dressed down in sweat pants a long-sleeve T-shirt, his shoulder supported by a fitted sling. Harry didn't even lose a thought about whether or not the man was armed; he always was.

"All to your standards?" John asked with amusement.

"Barely."

"I'll let Miss Gard know."

He groaned. "Don't. Please. She'll ax me."

"I think she is past that phase."

"Valkyries never are. You think so, but they aren't. But it's good. The wards. Really good."

"Then you can relax, Harry."

Easy for him to say! Dresden thought darkly. Someone had attacked John Marcone through a wyldfae summoning and it didn't sit well with Harry. It had him on edge in a very bad way and Bob's comments to burn it off hadn't helped either.

"I take it you are going to stay the nights?"

Nights?!

Harry blinked, slightly confounded. "Uhm?"

"The wards exceed even the highest protection standards, but I can't see you leaving unless there is dire emergency, and even then I would probably have to kick you out."

He hated that rational voice, that logic, that calm look. And he hated how he found his eyes tracing the injuries, his magic curling longingly toward the other man, wanting to be close, to help.

So he caved. Because denying it would take up too much effort.

"Might have to bring a house guest…" he mumbled. "Or two."

"Are we talking about that small pony you call a cat and the bear masquerading as a dog?"

"Uhm." He scratched the back of his neck. "They are housebroken?"

Marcone regarded him with the inscrutable face, eyes burning with something that pinged on Harry's magical radar and had him shiver in a good way. There were lines around the man's eyes, speaking of his exhaustion, but he looked far from vulnerable or weak.

"Very well. Should I stock up on pet food, romance novels -- and maybe add a secured lab in the subbasement?"

"You have a subbasement?"

 _Yes, way to go, Harry!_ he thought, even his brain sounding almost hysterical. _Pick out the least important piece of information._

"Of course."

"Of course," he parroted. "Uhm, why?"

"Because I have a wizard."

"You have… since when?!"

"Theoretically, I had him since we met, but he only just lately came around to see reason."

"Asshole!" he growled and stalked over to the kitchen area to get out of looking into the handsome face with its stupid mocking smile.

"And if you were talking about the house, it came with a subbasement," John added with silent laughter audible in every word. "I believe it's suitable."

Harry grabbed a can of whatever expensive soft-drink Marcone had stocked the fridge with. The specially warded fridge. Like everything here was as Dresden-proof as could be. He wouldn't put it past himself to cause a small electrical fire, but the way things had been going lately, the shield and the special wards kept Marcone's things safe when they were in his home together.

John waited. The man was a pro at waiting. He could be absolutely unreadable, a statue, tracking an opponent's moves and analyze their every twitch or how they breathed.

Harry refused to be baited. He wasn't stupid and he knew this was a blatant invitation, neatly wrapped in a colorful package with a fluffy bow on top. Marcone knew he would stay, keep an eye on him, was worried because he had been hurt, and he was using that moment to… to what? Have him stay several nights in a row?

He exhaled sharply.

He had rules. And limits. And boundaries. Well, some.

"I'm not going to move in with you!" he finally announced when Marcone didn't break the silence, playing the waiting game to perfection once more.

"I didn't ask you to," was the mild reply.

"You implied, Marcone!"

A one-shoulder shrug; there was barely a wince. "That is your interpretation." Face of a politician! "You could commute."

He glared again.

"From a secondary residence. No minimum nights required. I believe we could stock a satisfactory lab in case you want it at your disposal."

He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again.

"My lawn might suffice your bear in a dog's disguise, though I hope your cat isn't prone to scratching the furniture."

Harry's mind was whirling. The offer was tempting. It was incredibly tempting. He still fought it with all he was, just because it was his go-to first response with anything John Marcone offered in terms of… whatever. He didn't depend on the man's money! He wasn't on someone's payroll! But to whom would it matter if he did move in here as a secondary residence? Murphy? She had already declared him semi persona non grata and he wouldn't count on a lot of advisory work coming in from SI. Thomas would probably laugh his ass off again, then demand a tour of the house. And Michael? He had given him his blessing, so to speak.

 _You are his partner_ , his treacherous brain reminded him. _Not just temporarily. He's here to stay. He loves you, you idiot! He protects what he loves._

Hell's Bells…

_The house is a reflection of you. Of both of you. It's strong. When will you finally understand?_

Harry fought his emotional reaction to that particular fact. "We can give it a trial run," he finally gave in on his terms. "I'm not going to move in. I'm not giving up my place or the office or whatever!"

Marcone inclined his head as if sanctioning a contract, but Harry took note how his shoulders sagged a little, the tension releasing, and the lines around his eyes eased. There was no triumph, no glint of a victory, just this relief.

Harry understood and yet he refused to give in to the want and need inside him, too.

John pulled Harry the last few inched by his T-Shirt. Dresden looked into those knowing eyes, saw more than what the words had said. Yes, John Marcone was a possessive bastard, but he protected. It was in his blood when it came to one particular wizard and it was a basic instinct that burned in those predator eyes. It was an instinct they shared, but one that was showing in deceptively small gestures when it came to this man.

Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden was just incredibly, stupidly, moronically bad at accepting anything at face value, always looking for the trap, the hidden meaning.

There was none here.

Well, there was a hidden meaning. He might be stupid, but he had deciphered that. He simply didn't fess up to it.

"I do not claim to own you, Harry," John murmured, hitting that sore spot like a heat-seeking missile. "This isn't a trap." Great, now he was a mind-reader, too. "I just want you safe, too. I want you to know you have this. Here. No strings. No bonds. No debts. I would not ever presume to control your life. I would never step as low as to manipulate the man anchored to me. You have my word on that. You always had."

Yes. Since the day they had finally taken the last step. John had told him and just now repeated it.

"I am aware of my responsibilities," Marcone went on, hands clenching into the T-shirt, holding on tightly. "To you. To your life, your soul, all that you are. This is an option I offer. Your space. Am I proud to be your anchor and shield? Yes. I am. You are my wizard, Harry Dresden. Am I possessive bastard? I can be. I don't share. You are mine, Harry."

Wrapping a careful arm around the other man, trapping the injured arm between them without putting any pressure on it, Harry kissed him. Softly. Without urgency. Just to feel those lips open under his pressure and answer with the same emotions Harry was pouring into it. Dresden was leaning back against the kitchen island, John fitting so perfectly against him. He finally leaned his forehead against John's, quieting his turmoil.

"Give me a few more years and I might get used to this."

John huffed a laugh. "The way you like to kiss me, share a bed… I thought you had."

"And here you go ruining the moment."

"I wasn't aware we had a moment."

"Asshole." It sounded fond. Because it was. Harry pressed his lips against John's brow, drawing a brief smile. "You know what I mean."

The more serious expression said it all. "Yes, I do. Very much. And I know your immediate reaction is to decline whatever I offer, to run your mouth off and maybe insult me."

"I don't decline everything you offer!" he protested.

"I'm not talking about the sex."

"Well, I am," he decided to be a little more of a hard-head than usual. "I like the sex."

"I would hope so."

The seductive purr had him scowl. Marcone slipped his not immobilized hand underneath the T-Shirt and brushed playful fingers over Harry's skin, feather-light and still felt deeply. He shivered.

"John…"

"I know you like me. I know you enjoy the intimacy. Please let me extend that enjoyment to my home."

"Well, if you phrase it like that…"

"Harry."

"I wish I could tell you not to call me that. You abuse that privilege to wield my name," he mock-grumbled, then grew serious. "This is big."

"It pales in comparison to what has already happened."

Damn the man for always hauling out the sound arguments and hitting right on target!

"I know."

"But you want to be contrary. Is it because of the Lieutenant?"

"No!"

Marcone leaned back a little, eyebrows raised in his usual expression that said he was humoring him.

"Yes, maybe. I'm already in deep trouble and the PD will disavow any knowledge of my actions or even my mere existence."

"Too bad."

"Yeah, you sound heartbroken. We're talking my income here." He narrowed his eyes in warning. "And no, I'm not going on your payroll because of it."

"Contrary to a fault," Marcone sighed and leaned fully against him again. This time there was a grimace of discomfort. That meant the pain was growing worse.

Harry placed a broad hand on the mistreated shoulder and let the magic flow, trying not to overdo it since he really was crap at healing. Apparently the magic knew what was expected of it, drawn to the man who was its anchor and suffusing the torn skin. Marcone shivered and barely suppressed a moan, but it didn't sound pained.

"John?" Harry murmured.

"I'm good," came the equally soft reply. "Thank you. I appreciate the help."

"How about we sit down? I know you have this hideously expensive and infinitely comfortable, heavenly couch."

They made it to the piece of furniture in question and Harry let John sink against him, eyes closed, looking suddenly very relaxed and years younger. All shields down. Just John now.

Moving into this place, even just part-time, was a huge step for him. Gigantic, even. It was more than merely spending more time where he had spent so much before. It meant his magic would weave into the wards on a permanent basis, like a foundation that would stand guard over this place. Bringing along not just a few of his things, but also his pets, one of them being a descendant of a Foo Dog… and maybe even Bob.

Bob, who would probably cackle for weeks to come and not stop pointing out just how right he had been and what a dumbass Harry was for being absolutely slow in so many things that involved interpersonal relationships.

He had a bad track record with those, and trust, and emotional attachment. Actually, he was a mess most of the time and Marcone had started to slowly unravel that knotty ball of old yarn, careful but in a way that showed his determination and that ruthlessness Harry had seen in his soul so many years ago. A ruthlessness tempered by a protective streak a mile wide and the money and firepower to back up threats and promises.

All Dresden had to do was take one slow step at a time, follow the lead of his magic, and this man's apparently infinite patience with ornery wizards. Like now. When an offer had been made that… Yes, this was big. Considering their relationship so far, how slowly they had eased into what they had now, it was also head-spinning fast, giving him whiplash.

"Stop overthinking," Marcone rumbled, interrupting the downward spiral inside his head.

"I'm not!" he protested. To no avail.

"You are. I know you, Harry Dresden."

He huffed.

John looked very comfortable and was probably not inclined to move at all for at least the next hour. "You are," he just said, not even opening his eyes.

Am not, Harry thought in his head, petulant and contrary.

"You really are," Marcone could be heard and Dresden knew he was laughing again.

He played with the short strands of John's hair.

And then the light bulb went off with the power of the floodlights at Wrigley Field. Harry's hand stilled and he stared at the man plastered against him, looking so soft and at ease, hair in disarray, strands hanging into his forehead.

"Epiphany, Mr. Dresden?"

Marcone's eyes were still closed, but there was a fine smile curling at the edge of his lips. The shadow of stubble made him even more appealing.

"You…" He stopped, fumbling to channel his whirling thoughts. "This… Stars and Stones, John!"

It had been a romantic gesture. John Marcone, the man who wasn't into amorous overtures, who didn't drag him to exclusive restaurants and so-called romantic dinners, who didn't gift him expensive things, who didn't vocally tell him he loved him every single day… had done all that with just an invitation to… stay.

Oh, Bob would have a field day! He really would. The skull always claimed Harry was incredibly thick and didn't have a romantically tuned bone in his body, and this only proved it.

"You finally got it," Marcone murmured, eyes cracking open. The smile was wider now.

"I think I do."

"Good."

"I'm really bad at this," Harry murmured, fingers playing through the short hair again.

"I wouldn't say you are bad at it, simply not accustomed to being courted or wooed."

He grimaced. "Marcone…" he groaned.

"Five years, Harry."

"Rub it in, willya?"

Marcone hummed softly. "I wouldn't. I know you."

"So instead of dragging me to an opera or dinner, you offer me a subbasement?"

"Yes."

"Jerk."

"I can still throw in the opera."

"Asshole."

It got him a soft chuckle, then those eyes slid closed again. After a while the lines of his body eased, relaxing into sleep, and Harry smiled to himself as he settled into just keeping guard over his partner's sleep as they lay together.

The world outside was, for once, a quiet place.

John woke about an hour later and they just stayed where they were until Harry's stomach reminded him of how famished he truly was. The loud growl had Marcone chuckle.

"Order out," he only said as he sat up with a not so much suppressed wince. There were lines of pain that hadn't been there before. "I'm leaving the what to you."

Dresden watched as he moved rather stiffly toward where a small bottle with painkillers sat next to bottled water. Marcone swallowed two of the white pills, eyes briefly closing as he rode out a wave of pain.

Harry tore his eyes away from the vulnerable sight and decided to order something of everything, so their dinner was a mixture of Italian, Thai, Indian and Mexican.

When the food came, John joined him, the painkillers obviously working, but he started to doze off after a while once more.

"Come on," Harry murmured. "Bed. You're about to keel over for good. Hendricks will kill me if you get another bruise."

Marcone didn't fight him, which was telltale enough. The injuries and the medication were demanding their toll. It only showed here, in the privacy of their home, and Harry felt honored in a way.

The white bandages were in stark contrast to the tanned skin. John’s shirt hung open, giving Harry a clear view of a body he had seen in all states of dress and undress already. Marcone didn't look like he was in any form or way embarrassed to be needing help. Actually, he looked ready to sleep again.

The bandages over the surgically treated claw marks couldn't hide the melon-sized bruises that seemed to run into each other, forming a terrible map depicting just what the human body had gone through. There were some more abrasions and cuts.

"Superficial," John broke the silence and drawing Harry out of his study of the injuries. "A mild discomfort."

It was only now that he became aware of actually running warm, soft caresses over the multi-hued skin. Instead of pulling back as if he had been caught and burned, he let his palm rest against the large bruise wrapping around the left side of Marcone's ribcage.

John's eyes widened fractionally as he let the magic flow, very gentle, feather-light, unlike every other form of magic he usually practiced, which was more like a sledge-hammer.

"Can't heal it," he murmured apologetically. "Just ease it for a bit."

"You're getting better." Marcone covered Harry's hand with his own. "I'm okay, Harry. I'm alive."

Yes, he was.

"I will heal. None of these injuries were life-threatening."

Because it had been a test; a game.

"Don't," came the low rebuke, a command that seemed to slice into his dark thoughts. "Don't play into her hands. Don't let her rile you up into doing something so incredibly stupid that it would get you punished or worse."

"I…"

"Don't be Harry Dresden for once."

He blinked, caught. "Uh…?"

John smiled, caressing his face. "Listen to your shield."

"If the shield in question gets into bed and stays there I might."

"He will, if the wizard with the survival instinct of a deranged gnat will follow his lead. Trust me on this, Harry."

He exhaled sharply.

"Okay?" Marcone probed.

"Yes."

It got him a neutral look. "Your word, Mr. Dresden. You will let this go for good. Completely. No grudges."

Another exhale. "Okay."

"Your word."

"My word," Harry bit out. And he would keep it. "And I don't have the survival instinct of a deranged gnat!"

"Past experience begs to differ."

"Past experience can bite me."

John just smiled.

*

Marcone was up early, before sunrise, showered, dressed, shaved and with a coffee in hand when Harry finally crawled out of bed. How the man had accomplished all of that was beyond him. That shoulder had to be killing him, but maybe the painkillers were the good kind, the exclusive and expensive kind. Marcone would be in his office again, as usual, showing no weakness. At least he was wearing the sling to keep the strain off the mistreated muscles.

Harry didn't comment, just kissed him before Hendricks came in to accompany his boss.

There was a silent exchange of looks between Dresden and the bodyguard, Hendricks' expression just as always, but there was a tiny nod. An understanding.

And Harry understood, too. He had stood tall and hurting against possible supernatural threats himself, refusing to back down despite how bloody and broken he was, and this was just that. John wouldn't show the world the real pain he was in, just how bad the attack had been, how much it took out of him to present this front. His armor had no chinks, no scratches, no cracks.

tbc...


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right! More to read!
> 
> Since quarantine regulations over here eased up and I can travel within my own country, I decided on short notice to rent a holiday home by the sea for a week to just get out of my place for a while. The original plans would have had me in Iceland by now, enjoying a round trip by rental car. Alas, we all know what got us all to cancel our plans in the past weeks and the foreseeable future.  
> I'll be taking my laptop with me. I should have wifi. If not, I have my cell phone to act as a mobile hotspot.  
> Updates will happen, I promise!

Mouse and Mister had accepted the commute, which occurred on an irregular basis and mostly with Mouse only. His cat had given him one look, a very long look that said 'are you kidding me, human?' and then sauntered off into the depths of his vast new home when Harry had suggested he join Mouse and himself to commute back to the apartment.

Mister had inspected every nook and cranny the first time he had been introduced to the townhouse, and had then claimed an overstuffed armchair that must have cost a fortune as his personal throne. Marcone was wise enough in the way of the cats not to reclaim that piece of furniture.

Mouse had had no trouble deciding on where to act like a new rug, immediately at home and at ease. He was friendly to all of Marcone's guards and loved playing fetch with some of them. Seeing his massive Tibetan temple dog bounce around the yard with armed-to-their-teeth henchman of the Chicago mob boss, playing with Frisbees or rubber balls, was sometimes too surreal.

That, and Mister's claim of the armchair, had told Harry more than enough.

It was home.

And if he stayed over for a week or more in a row, who was counting? He sure wasn't.

*

Scars had had remained of the wyldfae attack. Three claw marks that stood out bright red and angry against John's tanned skin, wrapping around his shoulder like a terrible tattoo. The surgeon had put in neat little stitches and they would heal more in time, turn pale, but they would never disappear completely. The shoulder's mobility wasn't compromised and physical therapy worked its miracle. Executive Priority had first rate therapists.

Harry had sworn to himself to look up a healer if any discomfort or impaired mobility remained, but John had waved him off. Of course the man would know the right people should there be any need.

He ran careful caresses over the marked skin as he had done so many times before. John indulged him, watching him in turn, his own hands not idle either. He traced almost mindless patterns along Harry's skin under the T-Shirt he still wore while Marcone was shirtless.

"John, I…," Harry whispered. _Can't lose you. Not you, too. Lost everyone else. I need you to be there, healthy and whole. Because I love you, you scumbag asshole! You're not just my shield. You are never just the man connected to me, anchoring this insane amount of magic force. You are… John._

Marcone studied his face like he wanted to commit it to memory. He cupped one sharply cut cheek, dragging his thumb over the light stubble there. Then he smiled, that knowing, teasing smile. His eyes reflected something that had Harry breathless, had something deep inside him stir, reach out. John leaned in, kissing him.

The kiss grew more intense, hotter, and Harry groaned as Marcone pushed a leg between him, putting ever-increasing pressure on a part of his anatomy that was very interested in getting it on. Then a hand pushed into his pants.

"Shit, fuck, John!" he whined when that hand provided some interesting twists and friction.

"You say the sweetest things."

"Shut up!"

"Gladly," came the low growl and with a last twist the hand was gone.

Before he could protest, Harry found himself with his back on the bed, his pants were pushed down and he gave an appreciative moan as a wet mouth wrapped around his straining dick. He wanted to spread his legs, but the pants were in the way, and he really, really wanted more. Especially when Marcone employed his considerable knowledge of one Harry Dresden to do some truly magical things. A tongue was added to the exploration, and lips and teeth, pressure and suction, and Harry could only feel and make encouraging noises. He barely managed to swallow the scream that escaped when deft fingers slid into him to push him over the edge. A wild part wondered when and where the lube had come from. Another couldn't care less because Stars and Stones!

It was embarrassing how quickly he came and how much it shook him. He might even have given an undignified whimper. The playful fingers were driving him insane. Marcone blanketed him, hips moving in slow motions against his flagging erection, drawing another groan. Harry reached between them, reciprocating, listening to the stuttering breaths and his name whispered like a curse as John spilled.

They lay together in the hazy aftermath.

"Fuck," Harry mumbled.

"You are insatiable."

He chuckled. "Oh, that's so bad, John, so bad"

Marcone had a sly expression in his eyes. "Maybe it was bad, but if you're up to it…"

"Depends on what 'it' is in your dictionary."

The other man laughed. “My current dictionary is rather limited and all it contains are words that should be censored.”

Harry pulled him into a kiss. He pressed their bodies together, reveling in the feel and the sound Marcone made.

“I want you,” he whispered, voice a bit rough.

“You’ve got me.”

Green eyes regarded him openly, reflecting the truth, tinged with renewed want. It was a promise, an oath, and everything else wrapped up in four simple words.

Harry exhaled, a tremor racing through him, the energy between them alive and intense.

"I won't leave," John murmured. "I love you."

He shivered again. "I love you," he echoed. _So very much._

John looked at him, eyes filled with knowing and understanding. His hands were running over Harry’s side, his back, calming and centering. His lips brushed over one temple. Harry let the soothing caress blank his mind, let it whisper across the connection.

*

Life fell into place again. Slowly, not with a bang. A little over three weeks after Marcone had been attacked, Murphy slapped a newspaper on his desk when she walked into Dresden's office one morning, looking drawn between furious and impressed.

"What?" Harry asked, startled.

"Did you read this?"

"Uhm, no?"

"Police arrested some east coast business tycoon for a long list of really serious allegations of fraud, inside dealing, blackmail, bribery, corruption, employing illegals, and smuggling. If only half of them are true he'll never see daylight again."

"And that's connected to what how?"

"Michael Rosario Lastra has connections to the mob. At least many think so. I heard from a New York buddy of mine that he's actually the head of a very familiar organization with aspirations to control half the east coast and maybe even Chicago." Her brows rose pointedly.

Harry studied the picture of a man, probably in his sixties, with thinning hair, a full beard, and the general appearance of someone's neighborhood small bank manager.

"This was Marcone, right?"

"How should I know?" he snapped.

"Something happened a while ago. Some tabloids ran rumors."

"Shouldn't read that stuff, Murphy. Melts the brain."

"What happened, Harry?" she demanded.

He sighed tiredly. "Small-time crook conjured a wyldfae, sent it after Marcone."

She scowled. "And?"

"And he got some scrapes and bruises," slashed shoulder, lacerations, cracked ribs, scraped fingers, "and his people chased off the monster."

The scowl didn't disappear.

"I don't know anything else, Murphy!" Harry snarled. "I wasn't there!"

"Unusual."

"Yes, maybe! But that's what happened. I don't know anything about this guy and what he might have done, okay? Not my business."

"You're in bed with him. Make it your business," she stated with a voice of steel. "Are you aware just what kind of powder keg Chicago would turn into if someone took out Marcone like that?"

A surge of anger rushed through him. Anger coupled with surges that had nothing to do with Murphy and everything with the danger John Marcone was in from both mundane and not so mundane forces because of who and what he was.

"I'm quite aware of his business, Lieutenant Murphy," Harry answered, teeth clenched, voice tight. "I'm not in his business, involved in anything of his business, nor will I ever be! I told you what connects us and that's it."

"Good for you," she sniped. "You can just ignore the dark side."

"But it has cookies," Harry quipped.

It didn't help. Murphy's glare was fierce and about to set the paper on fire.

"And yes, I am that removed, Murph."

She snorted derisively. "You sound like one of those mafia wives, Harry. Hope the sex is great."

His teeth clenched so hard, he was afraid he might crack a molar. "I have no idea who this Lastra guy is," he forced out, feeling the anger churn through him. "I know who might have enabled the summoner to get his hands on a wyldfae. We got the summoner. That's all I was involved it. And before you ask: Winter Court."

There was a steep line between her eyes as she chewed on that. Finally Murphy nodded at the paper. "Looks like he's reaching for New York," she commented.

"Hardly."

"Oh, and you would know how, if you're not involved in his criminal empire?"

"His city is Chicago." His Freehold. His territory.

"With Lastra gone, New York is just screaming to be taken over. He could gobble it up, incorporate it into his Freehold, right?"

"Too much trouble."

"Lots to gain."

Harry just stared at her, refusing to be baited any further into discussions about mob politics. He knew John wasn't reaching for any other city. That would be stretching himself thin, leaving Chicago vulnerable. He would never do that.

Murphy looked unimpressed, then just left.

Harry groaned and nearly banged his head on his desk. Instead he took the newspaper and read the article.

*

"You read the paper?"

"Hardy har-har," Dresden said wryly as he slouched in front of Marcone's executive desk. "Murphy gave it to me."

It got him a smidgen of a smirk. "I didn't know the Lieutenant was supporting the local, starving PI business with free newspapers."

Harry was big enough not to stick out his tongue, but it was a close thing. "I'm not starving!"

"My fridge is testimony to that."

No, he wouldn't stick out his tongue!

"So is this the guy behind the attack?" he demanded instead, gesturing at the picture of Lastra.

Marcone, as always impeccably dressed, regarded him calmly. "I believe we had a deal. This is my jurisdiction."

"I didn't get involved, so I kept my side of it. I just want to know."

"Mr. Lastra might have made a few bad choices in his investments, talking to the wrong people, leaving a paper trail where any professional businessman would have known not to. The IRS is always very interested in such paper trails. He might also have irritated the wrong people, very influential people, making them very eager to answer questions in regard to his not completely legal dealings and appropriations of land, estate and maybe a shipping line."

Harry stared at him. Marcone answered that stare with a completely bland look.

"He's the one behind the attack," Dresden finally murmured. Again, he got no answer. "Hell's Bells, John!"

The cold, calculating smile of the predator had him shiver a little. This hadn't just been Marcone the mob boss, this had been the Baron reacting to a threat to his Hold and his person. He had brought down the man in a pre-planned, clinical strike that would send him to prison for life over some serious allegations that included industrial espionage and bribing highly placed government officials. The amount of evidence was overwhelming. Harry had no doubt that enough if not all would stick to Lastra that not even the best lawyers could get him off the hook and on probation.

"I don't take attacks on my person or my city lightly," Marcone added, voice reflecting him perfectly: absolutely level, contained and without a shred of remorse.

"You made an example."

"Yes."

"Without killing the man."

"Death is final. Life in prison is a much harder sentence. Mr. Lastra has never known hardship in his life, has never needed to pay for a single thing, and he has never known what it means to be the small fish in a tank full of blood-thirsty, hungry sharks." His expression was that of the predator within his soul. "To believe white collar crime can't get you sent to one of the harshest of prisons is a myth."

Harry's sat frozen, the words painting a very clear fate for Mr. Lastra. He ran a hand over his face. "You, John Marcone, are a scary, scary man."

It got him a chuckle, those hard features softening all of a sudden. "I think you knew that going in, Mr. Dresden. Not that it ever stopped you from mouthing off, giving me a lot of grief, and annoying my men to no end."

"That's different!"

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, easy and lightly teasing. "Pray tell?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it again with a snap. Had he ever taken John's threats seriously? Yes and no. He had been aware that this was a man who could have had him killed and disappeared in no time, but he hadn't. There had been threats. Not exactly idle, but also not absolutely serious.

"Uhm… you liked me?"

Playing cat and mouse with one of the most dangerous mundanes Harry knew. Playing games and pulling hair, insults flying, overstepping boundaries and crossing so many, many lines it would have gotten others killed. Always getting closer and still fighting the pull.

John laughed, shaking his head in real amusement. "You are one of a kind, Harry."

"I also always pictured you sending your goons after someone," he went back to the original topic. "Not your hackers."

Marcone gave him an indulgent smile. "Some of my men are proficient in quite diverse areas. In these days physical force is rarely necessary. People hide their stupidity within the network, saving files that should have been destroyed right away. Some don't know just how deep a well-paid, respected employee can dig to unearth those sins."

"And your men are one of the best paid in the business."

"For a reason."

Harry nodded. "So it's over?"

It got him a cocked eyebrow.

"Oh, come on, John!"

Another smile, sharp and cold. "The one who tried to have me removed has been held accountable for his deed. I defended my city and my Hold. If you want to ask whether or not I want to pursue plans to take over an open position in another city, the answer is yes. It's over. I am not interested in a takeover that would stretch my resources and weaken my own city. A statement has been made."

"They know who made it."

"Of course."

Dresden looked into the cool, pale green eyes, read the truth in there, and something else. While it was over, there were still ripples in that particular pond.

*

One of those ripples was the slow manifestation of a whole slew of wee folk around the townhouse. As a wizard, Harry knew that to summon some wyldfae it needed a name, a circle and an offering to draw the faerie in. Like a mouse trap, with honey and bread instead of cheese and food pellets. It always worked like a charm.

While he had used the services of Toot-Toot from time to time, he had never bound the dew drop fairy to him as their lord and master, and he hadn't expected a whole swarm to relocate from wherever they lived near his apartment to the townhouse's large back yard.

He blamed it on the pizza, because those little guys were crazy over pies and did everything to get one. Screw the honey! Pizza worked best, no matter what kind, though there was a preference for meat lovers and anything with extra cheese. He asked them to do a job, gather information, give him information, they delivered, and he did the same for them: he delivered pizza.

Marcone was amused by the sight, but he didn't ask any questions. Harry loved him for it. He couldn't come up with a reasonable explanation anyway, so he left it at that. They had tiny faeries outside, declaring their allegiance to the Za-Lord with Toot-Toot as their general. Oh well.

Hendricks was his best impersonation of a bulldog carved out of rock. Since the wee folk weren't crawling around the house and kept to only appearing when called for, he accepted this new addition to the weird and freaky that was Harry Dresden's life.

"They are drawn to you," Bob explained. "They like you. They can feel the elements inside you."

"They're wyldfae," Harry muttered. "No affiliation to any court or side."

"You are your own side, boss."

"I'm no such thing!"

"Suit yourself," the skull shrugged it off, without the use of real shoulders. "Just sayin', boss."

"Keep it to yourself."

"Sure thing."

And Harry tried to ignore the implications, too.

*

August had been an exceptionally uneventful month. Hot, sure. Nothing new there. Harry praised the existence of A/C units that didn't go into sudden and violent early retirement around him, even if they only existed in the townhouse. He loved Gard for her special wards and he had applied his own magic to pushing them into perfection. It was a good way to train fine-tuning spells, training himself, and Bob was a rather patient teacher. It was a new side to an air spirit who had no moral compass whatsoever, was a total leech, and normally bargained over the menial things Harry asked.

Harry didn't delve too deeply into that particular puzzle, but he had to appreciate the results. His magic was more compliant, felt smoother, not like a powder keg about to go up and take everything in a ten block radius with it. If this kept up, he might even get a handle on healing magic that extended to more than alleviating pain.

His own office was still an oven in summer, with all windows open and an old-fashioned fan battling the heat. There was no air conditioning unit installed, so creating his own wards to see if he could get them right without Gard's base to work with was futile. He also didn't want to splurge on a unit. The apartment was bearable due its basement nature and thick walls. Cool in summer, an ice cave in winter. Yeah, that worked.

Not that he really spent a lot of nights there anyway.

Things were moving.

Not too fast, but also not glacially slow.

His excuses that he only spent the nights to keep an eye out for a possible new attack on Marcone had run their course and no longer worked. Everything was quiet on that front and everyone went about their business. But Harry Dresden was a master at ignoring the blatantly obvious, romantic gestures or not.

September didn’t really get any more hair-raising in supernatural matters. He valiantly ignored how his personal life was changing, how he was growing on a magical level. He noticed he was improving rapidly with the more finely tuned arts, like veils, telekinesis and spells that required finesse and not the baseball bat to the nuts response. His shields lasted longer and he could pull them up with a higher frequency before it felt like a black hole was opening up behind his eyes, trying to tear his brain apart.

John ran his various businesses, was in day-long meetings that probably sucked the will to live out of lesser men. Harry ignored the more illegal side as best as he could, though they did get into arguments over some of those none too legal matters when he ran into them face first due to the nature of his own work. The sniping and snarking was part and parcel of them. Harry knew it would always be there, no matter their lives, their work, even if John Marcone might one day go completely legal; and wasn't that the plot for a fiction novel of laughable contents! Harry couldn't imagine his partner not having his fingers in everything that made up Chicago, from children's hospitals to senior residences and the trafficking of illegal substances and weapons. Marcone was all that, all those sides, and it all made sense.

Like Harry would always have one foot in the darker nature of magic, wielding power that scared other wizards of old into declaring him an abomination and a dark, evil thing in the making. He had skirted by the darkness so often, it felt normal now. So yes, they were very much alike and he very much liked arguing with Marcone over it.

From the indulgent looks, the fire in the pale green eyes, and the sharp, predatory smiles, John absolutely enjoyed himself, too.

Well, the last eight weeks had been the most calm and relaxing ones in Dresden's life. He worked, he trained, he got a lot better in an art his teachers had proclaimed he would never master, and his personal life was… He had a personal life!

That alone was a red flag and a screeching alarm in one.

Still, he wasn't really ready. He never was.

Those ripples that had slowly fortified Chicago, had given him a small dew drop army that thrived on pizza and insisted of addressing him as Za-Lord, culminated into one humongous tremor that effectively ripped the ground out under his feet a few weeks later.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry fell against a tree in exhaustion, holding his aching side, trying to tell his lungs to expand, trying to breathe. His stomach churned, his vision fogged now and then, and he had trouble staying on his feet, but he fought.

"Dresden?"

He squinted at the Kevlar-clad figure and coughed. His lungs ached and his ribs exploded in agony.

"Fuck!" he groaned.

Marcone, all in black, knelt down, quickly and efficiently palpating his ribs, eliciting another groan. Behind him, Hendricks stood like a living wall of muscle, equally armed and armored, looking like he had been doused in gray-green slime.

"Is it gone?" Harry mumbled.

"Yes."

"The kids?"

"Safe." Marcone's voice gave nothing away, but Harry could still hear the anger, the worry, the soul-deep rage at some child-napping creature going after runaways and children it had caught alone.

He hadn't even fought – bitched – about Marcone insinuating himself into his investigation. In the past, maybe. Today, not so much. Sure, there had been words and Harry stating he didn't need half an army bearing down on Bunker Hill to flush out some snake monster. In the end it had been Marcone and Hendricks, with a small squad standing by just in case.

Right now, with everything aching abominably, he was glad his partner had bullied his way into the whole matter, armed to the teeth and ready to kick snake monster tail.

"Good."

He tried to get up and Marcone pushed a shoulder underneath his arm, helping. His legs were like jelly and locking his knees was the only way to keep himself from falling flat on his face again.

"I hate Halloween," he choked out. "I really, really hate it."

Marcone snorted a little laugh. "There are better ways to spend a night. Any night."

"Yeah, but tonight brings out the worst."

There was a minute shift in the air around them and Harry suddenly stiffened, adrenaline flooding his system and mixing with his magic.

Being a great wizard wasn't about natural magical potential. It wasn't about immense power alone either. It was mainly about control over that power, channel forces that could eradicate the wielder's mind, obliterate their bodies, turn them into sludge or just dust in the wind. Control also meant going past tiredness and exhaustion, using that last kernel of desperation and sheer obstinacy, being an absolutely stubborn bastard.

Harry Dresden was the epitome of that stubborn-bastardness.

The raw magic racing through him was like a jolt of energy, like an immense shot of Red Bull mixed with caffeine. His instincts screamed danger and he reacted.

Dresden whirled around, pushing Marcone behind himself. With a flick of the wrist he shoved Hendricks closer, too, while flinging out a hand to conjure a shield to protect the two men and himself. It flared to life in white-hot and electric blue. Something bounced off it, like bugs on a windshield, only that these were magical bugs and pure energy. And the bugs were really, really big.

The energy pummeled against the shield and he hissed, feeling his already dwindling reserves melt. Dresden dug deep, incredibly deep, felt the roar of elemental power, and he fed it into the shield, surrounding himself, John and Hendricks as Winter created a landscape of surreal, deadly beauty. The ground frosted over, icicles growing like trees and creating ethereal forms, and snow quickly covered the area.

Harry screamed in desperation and pain as the pounding continued, slashing like knives into his body, demanding its share of his soul.

He couldn't keep this up for much longer.

But he couldn't give in.

If he did, they would die.

There was a roar from the right and Harry saw something move, heading toward Hendricks. There were a lot of teeth, glowing eyes, claws, but Marcone's right-hand man didn't even flinch or hesitate. He simply swung around and let lose a volley of shots, perforating whatever it was that had been trying to get him. It screeched and disappeared in a puff of ice and snow.

Dresden knew the shield didn't form a perfect, protective bubble, that they were open in the back for a new attack, and he was proven that their attacker knew it, too.

Something else darted at them and Harry cried out once more as he poured magic into the shield that he shouldn't even have anymore.

It curved.

He had to close it.

Protect…

If he opened a portal… just cut through the fabric between the realms… if he could push them through…

Harry gritted his teeth, a primal instinct inside him clamoring not to. If he entered the Nevernever, if he dragged Marcone and Hendricks in as well, it wouldn't end well. He shouldn't, but he couldn't keep this up much longer, protect John…

Something inside him broke with a resounding crack. It was as if he had been locked inside a jar for his whole life, had never really felt, seen or heard, touched or tasted. His senses exploded, his mind was awash with sensations alien and familiar in one.

It was all of him and with him, the shadowy remains of the Winter Knight's mantle. The ferocity, the feral hunger, no inhibitions, just the unbridled force of what he could be. He felt it whisper along the elemental magic that swirled everywhere inside him. He felt it taunt him, guide him, push him forward.

He welcomed it even as it tore through him, over him. He reached for it, took a hold of the power. The wave rushed along every nerve, setting his body on fire as the power wrenched from him, agony screaming through an overtaxed brain that hadn't had to handle that kind of power for close to thirty years. It succumbed happily to the wall of darkness that followed on the cold fire's heels.

And suddenly Dresden felt a warm pressure against his back. A fire not his own but still so similar, growing stronger, seeping into his agony-filled mind. He felt the anchor take hold and he almost whimpered in relief, drawing from the strength so freely offered, embracing it. It was so controlled, so ordered, so cool on his feverish and chaotic mind. But it was also just as ruthless as him, as feral in its territoriality, ready to shed blood, take lives, protect at all cost. It pushed out Winter, gave him control, gave him strength.

Hendricks was still firing at the attacking things that looked suspiciously dog-like. They always went up in a puff, then reformed once more and circled, trying to find an opening.

The last one bounced hard against the shield and Harry shuddered with the impact, but the warmth at his back stayed. It fed him the control he needed, the strength to hold the shield.

And then the attacks stopped.

A void was left in their wake, like a sink hole that now collapsed in on itself. The relentless push of magic died down, no longer supported by the need to defend. Harry felt like his strings had been cut and he collapsed on his knees with a choked off gasp that relayed more than physical pain. He was trembling so hard his teeth were chattering. He hurt. Everything hurt. Not just his body; his very soul was like an open, bleeding wound. He was burning and freezing at the same time, too aware of the elements around him, and only his personal safety net kept him from falling apart completely.

Marcone's presence was that safety net. He felt him everywhere, holding him here, on this plane of existence, balancing his magic and anchoring him to the very ground. The impenetrable shield was slowly wrapping itself around him, so soft and gentle, infusing into every cell, cushioning him. It hurt, but in a different way. And it pulled him toward the anchor that sat eternal and irremovable.

"Your mate is as impressive as I had hoped him to be, Harry. He has learned to channel your powers. Very impressive indeed."

The voice sliced into his muddled brain and he felt another surge, pushing back the exhaustion for a second.

There was the click, the safety of a gun being switched off.

His eyes snapped open and while Harry had no idea where he found the coordination and power to do it, he pushed himself to his feet. He took a stumbling step forward, placing himself in front of Marcone and Hendricks. Magic curled around his fingers, ready to form another shield if necessary.

 _With what?_ a tiny voice whispered. _You've got nothing left. A kid could shatter your shield._

He didn't care.

"Leanansidhe," Marcone said, voice like ice and steel.

He was suddenly right next to Harry, tall and imposing, back ramrod straight, eyes without emotions, and yet every line of his body screamed a warning. His gaze bore into the Fae as if that alone could stop her in her tracks.

"John Marcone, Baron of Chicago."

She walked up to them, her pale skin as white as the snow around them, contrasted by the aquamarine dress that seemed to consist of millions of tiny scales. Her wavy red hair flowed in a non-existent breeze and the golden eyes were filled with cool, calculated mirth. Those eyes were now on the guns.

She tutted.

"The bullets are steel jacketed," Marcone informed her coldly, gun never wavering. His voice was clipped, sharp, and powerful. "I would advise not to provoke me any more than you already have. As Baron of Chicago I have the right to defend what is mine, protect my people, without fear of retaliation. Your uninvited presence in my territory is that of a tolerated visitor only. My tolerance wanes quickly in the face of how you entered my Hold without my personal invitation."

She curled lips the color of frozen cherries into a smile.

"You attacked me."

"Oh, but Baron, I didn't attack you."

He tilted his head, lips twisting into a mirror of her smile. "Attacking my wizard is synonym to attacking my person."

"I adhere to the treaty you have with Winter, Baron John Marcone," she said formally, but the golden eyes reflected a mischievous light.

"Yet you don't call this an attack?"

"I merely assessed and evaluated his development." Her smile was briefly close to proud. "My duty as his godmother."

"I have my doubts about that," Marcone remarked levelly.

Hendricks didn't look too impressed either, equally aiming his gun at the visitor with a determined expression.

Harry was pale as a ghost with a gray-green edge, and he looked ready to collapse at any given moment, but he refused to give in to his physical needs. He was hurting, weak, shaken by the power he had touched just before Marcone had pulled him back. He still felt the imprint of his partner's hand on his back, still held on to that sensation. Adrenaline was his friend and his magic was coursing through every vein, every cell of his body, a low thrum that told him despite how he felt, how raw and open, he would fight; could fight. One last blow, one shield to give his partner and Hendricks a fighting chance.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

He was trying to keep himself from already lining up basic protection, a soft shield, because even that was beyond him right now. He was running on empty and she knew it.

"To compliment you on finding such a strong mate and partner in a mere mortal. You are impressive, dear godson. More than before."

He frowned. "I think you already extended your compliments."

Those cat-like eyes glinted. "But I was remiss in one thing, my sweet Harry."

She opened her left hand. Inside was a necklace, golden, with a red ruby.

"Your mother left this in my care, to be given to her son when I decided you were ready."

The Leanansidhe smiled and it gave him chills. The necklace left her hand and floated between them. Snowflakes swirled around it, playful, unnatural, and too real to be anything but magical.

"You are now ready, godchild. You and your mate have grown." Her golden gaze transferred to Marcone, who didn't waver in his aim. "You are strong, mortal. You touched his very core and survived. You can channel his power without falling to it. You can guide him, can be guided by him. You are very worthy of my Harry."

"He is not yours," Marcone said evenly, emotionless and cutting. "You have no claim on him."

She smirked. "I am his godmother, Baron."

"And I am his shield. I can and will protect him, Leanansidhe. He belongs to me. No one can lay a claim to Harry Dresden. His debts have been paid." His voice was still without inflection, completely impassionate and so very detached, yet still relaying a threat of violence. It was a lethal calmness. "My claim on him is absolute and without dispute even by Faerie law."

Harry didn't even feel the old anger at the possessive announcement. The words sounded ritualistic, ringing deep within him, his magic calmly accepting it. It rose out of the abyss, at his beck and call, terrible and untamed. It seemed to purr, stretching toward Marcone and winding around him, mirroring the claim. A claim made in front of a High Sidhe, his very own Godmother.

Lea's lips curled into another chilling smile. "Your claim has been officially recognized, Baron John Marcone of Chicago Hold." She, too, sounded very formal. "See that you wield it wisely. I would not want to see my godson hurt. You do not want me to come back should that happen."

Marcone's lips twisted in a mirror of that smile. "Should you come back without invitation, by the power granted to me by the Unseelie Accords, I shall see to it that it is your last visit."

Harry stared at him, chills of a different kind racing through him. This was a threat as good as any he had ever heard. A threat he couldn't possibly go through with because neither of them could even remotely think they could beat the Leanansidhe should she decide to retaliate.

"John…" he hissed. He really didn't want to piss her off. He knew what a pissed-off Lea could do.

Marcone raised one elegant eyebrow.

But she laughed, sounding actually amused and not just playing it. "Yes, you will do nicely for him." She turned her attention back to Dresden and the ruby spun lazily between them. "This was your mother's prized possession, Harry. Something she wanted only you to have. It holds the sum of her knowledge of the Ways. Every path, shortcut, or connection. She was powerful, child. Like you, but not as closely connected to the elements as you are, never in need of an anchor. Still she developed the skill to predict where Waypoints would be in the future. Very few of the Fae can even say as much. Use this power wisely as it destroys lesser minds."

He stared at the necklace. He knew his mother had been deeply involved in Faerie, had known more about the Nevernever than any mortal, and it had gained her the name LeFay. Luccio had once mentioned that his mother had known more Ways than anyone else before her or since, that she had moved an unrivalled freedom and ease.

And that map was… this was the map?!

"You'd just give it to me?" Harry rasped, not the least bit ready to believe it or to trust her.

"It was your mother's wish."

"So you attacked me to hand me a gift from my mother?"

The Leanansidhe laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Oh you innocent child. You have been growing beautifully into what is at your disposal. Sometimes you just need to see what you have, Harry. Someone to bring it out." Her gaze transferred to John. "To show you what you have, what is important, and what is worth surpassing what you perceive are your limits."

"So you tested Marcone by sending a wyldfae after him?" he demanded, fury coursing through him, igniting the magic again.

She tutted again and with a flick of a finger dropped the necklace into the snow where it lay like a drop of blood.

"You will learn, Harry. In time. Your time, while still that of a mortal, will extend as you begin to see past limitations taught by those who cannot understand what you are." She smiled, the expression far from warm and human. "You, my sweet godson, will understand one day. I wish you a happy birthday."

And she was gone in a flurry of snow that cut into their skins like an arctic blast.

There was silence, broken only by the crackle of magical snow and the even breaths of Marcone and Hendricks.

"Everyone's okay?" Harry breathed, voice faint and growing fainter. He was staring straight ahead to where Lea had been. He felt woozy, his head was pounding even more.

"Yes."

He swallowed, mouth dry as a desert, every thought slowing to a crawl. One burned through him, though. One last important thought.

"You?"

"I'm perfectly fine," John answered calmly, radiating that calm and control, taking control.

With the adrenaline rush abating, everything seemed to collapse in upon him. His brain was slush, his reaction in slow motion, and thoughts were slowing to a crawl.

"Good," he whispered.

For a moment there was only the silence, then Harry's eyes rolled up into his head and he gave in to the darkness.


	15. Chapter 15

Marcone was just fast enough to catch the other man as he collapsed and he cushioned his descent, wrapping one arm around the unconscious form while the other still had the gun trained for any attackers. Harry lay heavily against him, his whole form trembling, his breathing too shallow and fast for his liking, but at least there was no blood.

He could almost feel the exhaustion roiling off him, the way everything inside Dresden was both scraped raw and empty, as well as still connected to an endless well of more power that was just waiting to be unleashed.

Marcone knew he couldn't actively shield him from the elemental magic, from the sheer force of which it could rush through the wizard, at his call. He couldn't murmur a few Latin-sounding words and voila! He wasn't magically inclined, a practitioner. And he had never felt so helpless, so absolutely out of his depth, as the moment Harry had pushed everything into the shield and screamed in absolute agony as the very power seared through him. Voicing the pain he had been in had cut into Marcone, slicing into his mind and soul, and he had reached for the wizard automatically. He had physically touched him, despite the magical energy coursing through the other man, crackling over his skin and reflecting in his eyes.

John had no idea why.

It had been instinct, a knowledge he hadn't had before.

He had felt the pressure of the anchor, the strain it had been under to keep the other man from tearing himself to pieces again, had felt it dig in its proverbial heels, and it had held. There had been control and the hold of the anchor reflected in the physical touch.

It was the first time John Marcone had been shown just what he could be for Harry Dresden. Without being a wizard himself. He was very far from a vanilla mortal. He had simply never actively done anything to prove it to himself.

His hand stung a little, but there were no burns, no open wounds. Flexing his fingers he felt them ache, but movement wasn't impaired.

Breath clouding in front of him, Hendricks carefully surveyed the snow-covered ground, but aside from them, there was no one. He took a few steps closer to his boss, eying them.

"Johnny?"

The address by his first name was rare, only ever in private with no one else around. It reflected how much the attack had rattled the bodyguard, despite his lack of readable emotions.

"I'm fine."

"He okay?" he asked shortly.

"Exhausted his energy, depleting himself. Out like a light," Marcone answered, voice clipped. "He is not okay, but he will be. Call the men. We need evac. Stat."

Hendricks nodded, once more glancing at the wizard, a mild frown that relayed his worry visible. He was on the radio not a second later, calling in their back-up and cautioning them, just in case the Leanansidhe had left some nasty surprises behind.

Marcone checked Harry's pulse, relieved that the hammering rhythm had quieted down, that his breathing was evening out. He briefly brushed over the tangle of hair, pressing a close-mouthed kiss against the cool forehead, then his professional mask slipped back on.

He looked up and met Hendricks' eyes.

His oldest friend looked a little too pinched, a little too tightly strung, reflecting everything Marcone felt, though not on the same personal level.

Harry didn't wake throughout the trip back. He had been made comfortable and John remained by his side, one eye only on his partner, while he listened to reports and gave orders. The children were safe, none of his men had been injured or worse, and the police could handle the rest as they returned the children to their parents. While Marcone had never shied away from a confrontation with the infamous Lieutenant Murphy, he didn't feel like suffering through such an inane game of hot accusations and reluctant appreciation of his assistance.

He had more important matters to take care of.

When they were finally moving and he was alone with Harry, he ran a gentle caress through the tousled hair, along his neck, over his face.

His wizard.

He had felt the power, not just seen it like the last time Harry had dug deep and dragged something vastly powerful out of his very core. This time he had touched the man physically as he had thrown open every door and channeled it. It hadn't hurt and Marcone knew all kinds of physical and emotional pain, but it had been extremely… discomforting. It had torn at him, tested him, gone against a mind that was always in perfect control and armed against any kind of attack. It had tried to break him apart, break Harry, but Marcone had refused.

He would always refuse to bend or break. It had drained him emotionally, had brought him to his limits, and still he wouldn't let go, let Harry go. The moment the endless feed cut off, the abyss closed off, he had wanted to cry out in relief, but he hadn't. He would never give anyone the satisfaction to get such a rise out of him.

The experience had also been humbling; as well as frightening to know that this was what lay dormant inside. John Marcone wasn't scared of Harry Dresden; he had never been, if he thought about it. He was insanely proud and very honored to be this man's shield and anchor, his partner, to be trusted in a way no one else would ever be. Harry Dresden was magnificent.

Harry had roused only briefly, barely even there. There was a confusion in those glassy eyes, and if Marcone didn’t know differently he would call the other man innocent and vulnerable. Dark bangs hanging into his face, exhausted, in pain, and probably not really sure where he had woken up when he had opened his eyes.

"Harry," he murmured, caressing the too pale face. "Relax. It's over."

There were minute tremors and Marcone could almost feel the abused magical pathways scream in pain. There was nothing he could do; he hated being helpless. It always hit home when it came to matters of magic. All the weapons, the knowledge, the connections and allies meant nothing when Harry was in pain, had been in agony, and John was unable to alleviate that pain even a little.

With Harry at least somewhat awake, he had made him drink something, swallow painkillers, then had helped him to the bedroom and into bed, where he had promptly fallen asleep again.

Now Marcone sat with his back against the headrest of the king-sized bed, phone and laptop with him, guns and knives at the ready just in case. He had changed from the black outfit with the Kevlar armor into something more comfortable after taking a quick shower to wash off the gunk, grime and blood.

"You gonna stay?" Hendricks asked, though from his expression he knew the answer already.

He met the blue eyes, reading more than just that question in there. Nathan knew him as no one else did, aside maybe from one Harry Dresden, whom he had shared a soulgaze with. They could communicate with next to no or no words at all. Right now Marcone read the still strongly present worry in that expression. His right-hand man was very much aware of what the two men were for each other. It was something no one could really get completely and anyone guessing it was just sexual was so very, very wrong. Nathan had accepted it, incorporated it in his daily routine and how he handled matters, never batting an eye. He had been infinitely adaptable ever since the reality of the existence of magic and the supernatural had come into their lives.

Like all the men still working for John Marcone. He didn't need the easily startled, the ones who refused to believe in shapeshifters, faeries and magic-users. He had weeded them out, removed them from his detail. His men were well-trained, extremely well-paid, and they adapted as quickly as their boss.

Hendricks had been there for this mission, had witnessed Dresden's magical near-overload, how he had dug so deep, had gone past his limits, and he had protected not only Marcone but Hendricks as well. Seeing Harry Dresden fight was a matter of absolute grace and beauty. He might be called a brawler in magical matters, but there was still a delicacy to his spells, a raw elegance, and such power Marcone had always admired it.

Admired him.

Now he could see how Harry had changed, how he had grown, how his magic shifted with him and allowed him a wider range. The shield had been a creation of strength, skill and refinement. It had been like a work of art. Now Marcone was also able to feel the magical force to a degree, sensed its touch, its caresses, and he knew it whispered over him from time to time, like rubbing up against him; marking him.

Yet, no one could sense their connection.

"Yes, I'm going to stay," John now said quietly. "Call Miss Gard. I hate to shorten her vacation, but it is necessary. I want everyone on high alert throughout the city. Extra attention to whatever crawls out of the shadows. If anyone sees the slightest anomaly, I want to know. Immediately, no matter the time, no matter where I am."

"You think she'll be back?"

"In person? Unlikely at the moment. But she is a Fae. She'll find a way to make things difficult just to make a point because of my threats against her." Marcone's expression was like granite, eyes hard and unyielding. "She won't go against my agreement with Mab, risking punishment at the Winter Queen's hands. But we know she has done it before."

Hendricks' eyes narrowed and he nodded. "Halloween's over," he rumbled. "The weird and crazy might just taper off."

It was close to four am, but no one was lulled into any kind of safety. Just because the calendar said November first didn't mean Halloween was truly over.

"One can only hope. I'll stay here for the time being," Marcone added, voice relaying that he accepted no argument.

The other man understood that this meant he and the Valkyrie would be in charge until Harry was back on his feet because John Marcone had no intention of leaving him right now. There was a fierce protectiveness in the green eyes, pale and cold.

"What happened out there… that's what he really is?" Hendricks asked.

"Yes."

The other man looked thoughtful. "That's a lot of power."

Marcone smiled wryly, glancing at the man next to him. Harry lay on his side, close to him despite the massive size of the bed, deeply asleep. "It is."

An insane force, so alluring and pure, so volatile and wild, and it was all that Harry Dresden was as well. Seeing him out there, that power reflecting in his eyes, in the energy crackling all around him, channeled into a shield he wouldn't have been able to uphold maybe a year ago, it had been awe-inspiring. Others might be terrified, but John Marcone had simply called himself a lucky bastard to be this man's anchor and shield.

"And you keep a lid on it."

"In a way. I balance it."

The blue eyes studied the unconscious man. "He really is a very powerful wizard."

"One of the most powerful, Nate." He ran gentle fingers over the unruly hair. He felt tenderness course through him, a sensation of warmth and love and admiration. This amazing, strong, marvelous man was his. "Get the skull," Marcone added softly. "We'll need him here."

Hendricks nodded once more, then left them alone.

John regarded the still, motionless man beside him, deeply asleep and completely exhausted.

"You keep amazing me," he murmured. "And you make me love you more each time."

The magic whispered around them, invisible but tangible to him in a way John had never felt before. It curled close, a lethal and fickle thing, but attached to the anchor and shield, purring softly.

*

"What happened to him?" Bob demanded the moment Hendricks set him down on the nightstand, eyes a bright orange that burned with emotions the spirit rarely displayed with such fervor. "What did you do? What did he do? Who did this to him?!"

"The Leanansidhe."

Bob's jaws clicked shut and the lights flickered, then their brightness returned.

"Well, fuck."

Marcone smiled humorlessly, lips twisting into more of a grimace. "Apt."

"He… went deep," Bob stated after a long time of just looking, probably doing his own version of a check-up. "Empty night, he went really deep!"

"Yes."

"All the way. His pathways look… oh man, he burned them, flayed them raw and then continued!" Bob sounded pained. "What did she do to him?"

"He was already exhausted from a previous fight when she appeared and forced Harry into defending himself, as well as Mr. Hendricks and me."

The jaws clicked audibly again. "And he survived."

"Apparently," was the wry answer.

"He shouldn't be able to reach that far already, but he did." The lights were now focused on Marcone. "You helped!" He sounded almost accusatory.

"Possibly. I can't actively enter a fight."

"You did, in a way."

Yes, he had. John had no idea why he had touched him, placing his hand between Harry's shoulder blades, but it had been enough to screw the lid on tight and keep him from possibly doing something similar to what had already happened once.

Control for the chaos. Coldness to the fire. Protection and ruthless defense.

"Will he be alright?" Marcone asked calmly, though inside he was a twisted mess over the state of one Harry Dresden.

"Yeah. He's tough. And while it was a bit more than he usually does… well, actually legions more… way out of his league… so far above the moon…" Bob stopped, then exhaled in a very good imitation of a human sigh. "Magically he looks like raw hamburger. Wow, that's painful. Been there, done that. It has to heal. He'll need some recovery time."

"He has all he needs. I'll make sure of it."

And he would. He would handle everything he could from here, whatever it was, whoever called, and if his presence was required, he would make sure he left Harry with protection. His men might not be magically inclined, but steel could hurt a faerie and everyone had an arsenal of various defense mechanism against many supernatural threats. They were trained to tell apart the basic monsters and able to hold them off for a while.

John trusted them with the defense of his wizard should he have to leave.

*

He woke in a world of muted pain and a lot of confusion.

Everything hurt.

Breathing hurt.

Thinking hurt.

His body was aching everywhere and it felt like the world around him was packed in wool and wrapped in bubble-wrap. His thoughts were too slow, conflicting, making no sense. While he made a connection between fresh sheets and warmth as safety, another part of him was tense and ready to spring into action, despite his general condition.

His brain was like a big piece of mush, each thought sloshing through and failing to make a connection with the next. It was disconcerting. Especially when he thought about getting up, then wondered just how, and then forgot he was actually trying to.

Great, his mind decided. Just great.

He was laying on something comfortable. It was warm. It was soft. There as a muffled murmuring; nothing clear. Through his closed eyelids, Dresden picked up lights. He couldn't crack his eyes open, though. It was just too hard. Like lifting weights with his eyelids. It was disconcerting, but the exhaustion dragged him down and didn’t let him ponder this weakness.

Someone touched him and while his first reaction would have been to fight off a possible attack, another sense kicked in. It was an instinct, a primal knowledge, and it was his magic whispering softly along the point of touch.

"Relax, Harry," a familiar voice told him, making it almost an order.

"…john…?" he managed, voice rough and dry, his tongue refusing to cooperate.

"Yes. You are safe. We are all safe. You did good."

_…cool…_ he thought faintly.

Something was pushed against his lips and he automatically sipped, feeling tiny droplets of water wetting his mouth.

And then he was out like a light again.


	16. Chapter 16

It took Harry almost twelve hours to be back among the living. By now Halloween had long passed, the first of November had dawned and brightened into an overcast, chilly day, and the weather forecast threatened sleet and possibly snow. Dresden looked haggard, washed out, almost gray, and he was trembling, the minute shivers racing down his lithe form. Marcone had wrapped him in blankets and turned up the heat in the room to an uncomfortable level, but he refused to leave. He was clad in only a T-shirt and undershorts, which made it bearable.

He had handled his business, had rearranged meetings, had been on the phone with several associates, and he had moved all the unnecessary appointments that filled a day with inane chit-chat and boring representatives. Gard could handle those matters, as well as Hendricks. He had cleared his calendar for the rest of the day and the whole weekend.

"You didn't have to do that," Harry mumbled, but there was no heat behind it.

"I didn't," he agreed. "But I wanted."

All emails had been answered, all papers signed, and he had finally accepted a phone call from Lieutenant Murphy, listening to her rant and threaten him. Marcone had calmly explained what had occurred, what they had done, about the child-napping creature, and finally reassured her that Dresden was fine, though wrung out. And no, she could not talk to him.

He knew that particular conversation wasn't over and she wouldn't rest until she could talk to Harry in person.

Courtesy of Bob and his own methodical questioning of the skull, John had a very good idea what had happened on a magical level and how deep Dresden had gone to conjure such a powerful shield after he had defeated a powerful faerie creature out to collect children. He had felt it through the connection, had felt him draw on everything he was, what he could access, and the elemental forces had wreaked havoc on his abused system. Bob had given him the magical background, a few deeper insights into how wizards worked magic, and it cleared up a few last questions.

Right now, Harry Dresden was the magical equivalent of a newborn kitten. He was weak, easy prey should anything come knocking, and if he called upon something more powerful than a sparkler effect, it would hurt him.

So Marcone had once again upped the protection, called on Gard to check the wards and do whatever was necessary to keep anything at all out of the townhouse.

The Valkyrie hadn't even batted an eye. She did as requested and Bob confirmed that the place was as safe as it could get.

There was nothing else for Marcone to do and that was not a state he was accustomed to. It was an itch in the back of his mind, this inability to truly help Harry.

"Well, you do," Bob told him, voice quite serious as he talked to the skull once more. "You are his shield. He'd be out in the open, magically speaking, if not for you. He would be hurting a lot worse if not for that. And the anchor calms the erratic magic."

"But I can't influence it," he stated evenly.

"Of course not. You're mundane." Bob rolled his eyes, which was always an interesting feat, seeing he had no eyes to speak of. "But you do it anyway. That's the beauty of it. Trust me, Johnny-boy, you're currently at your best, helping him as nature sees fit."

Bob kept scanning their mostly sleeping wizard and if Marcone wasn't completely mistaken, it had rattled the air spirit, too, despite being so old and vastly knowledgeable. His wise-cracking and inane comments had come down a notch.

Rest, fluids, nourishment. Nothing else helped. Harry wasn't gravely physically injured. There were no cuts, burns or impact wounds; only the bruise on his ribs, which had already lessened. There was only the one inside and that would heal itself in time.

So Marcone made sure to have food at hand and there were bottles of water in every room. Since Harry insisted he didn't have to remain in bed, and he was a stubborn mule, they had made it to the living room, but it had been a haphazard journey at best. It was sheer, stubborn determination that Dresden hadn't fallen flat on his face after just three steps.

"C'mere," John murmured as he drew the taller man into an embrace and sank with him onto the couch. “Sit down before you crash.”

Harry gave a weak, almost pathetic whine. He still wasn't running on all cylinders, kept spacing out at random intervals, and Marcone had to stop him twice from running into a wall. If not for the seriousness of the situation, it would have made for great comedy. At least he had stopped freezing and trembling.

Hendricks walked in, carrying several boxes of pizza. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question and John answered just as silently. Harry would be okay, but he needed time to recover from this. He had gone past his limits for the first time since they had connected and he was paying the price.

"Take three to Toot-Toot and his people," he told Hendricks.

The dew drop fairy general had set up guard outside, keeping watch, and had declared he would defend the Za-lord should something malignant come forth. Some of the brightly glowing warriors had teamed up with Marcone's own guard, who were first bemused, then rather accepting of their small 'partners'.

Paying in pizza for services rendered was a small price. While the tiny fae were no serious threat for some of the monsters that might want to take a bite out of Dresden, a whole army and his own men could pack a lot of firepower.

Harry roused as he smelled the food and Marcone stifled a laugh when the first pizza was devoured in record time. Harry was a bottomless well and right now he doubted the pies would last long.

Marcone was never far from his recovering wizard, conducting all business from this townhouse, video conferencing when a phone call wasn't enough.

Harry ate his body weight in food several times over. It showed how much he needed sustenance in any form, because he was getting better in leaps. Magic ate away at the wielder and if the wielder was a stubborn idiot who earned his living with PI work and police consultations, barely able to pay his rent and utilities, food was not always a priority. And pizza only went so far.

"You're a mother-hen and worry-wart. Didn't know that," Harry mumbled as he dozed on the couch next to where Marcone was typing away at his laptop.

Dark brows winged up.

"Well, I did. Kinda," Dresden went on, eyes half-closed. He yawned. "Just different now."

"Your brain is still a weird place to be, Harry," John said fondly.

"Bite me."

He chuckled.

"You try channeling primal magic. See what happens to your brain."

"I'd rather not. One of us pulling that stunt is enough. I'm also not a wizard."

"Hn," Harry grunted.

Marcone shook his head with a fond mile. "How are you, magically speaking?" he asked.

"Still feeling sore. Really sore." Harry wriggled his fingers and a few sparkles appeared, fizzing out again. "Ouch," he commented.

"Then don't."

"Yes, mom."

Marcone narrowed his eyes, but the way Harry slumped at him, head resting against his upper arm, all he could feel was this soft, tender warmth that always curled through him when it came to Harry Dresden. He placed the laptop on the cushion left of him, then pulled the other man closer. He placed a kiss against the dark hair.

"What you did was insane, Harry. Absolutely insane."

"I had to. To protect."

"And you almost went too far."

"Can't go too far. You'd pull me back."

Marcone sighed. Dresden blinked his eyes open, those dark orbs filled with exhaustion and a little bit of annoyance.

"I know how far I can go, John," he stated. "I'm not reckless. I'm not going to just throw the gates open and let it all flow.

"Good."

And if he sounded almost angry, Harry didn't call him out on that. But he had noticed, the brief tension tell-tale.

After Murphy called for the fourth time, Harry made a grabby motion for the phone and John handed it to him. He left Harry to talk to the lieutenant, which lasted close to an hour and she finally seemed convinced that Dresden was going to be fine and was in no danger from the crime lord of Chicago.

Marcone retreated to his office in the townhouse, back to work, absorbed in the daily routine of running his vast business and making sure he reminded his executives and assistants that while he wasn't there in person, he did see and hear everything nevertheless.

There was one meeting he would have to attend since it concerned a merger of a small company that was a front for quite bothersome illegal drug trafficking that had tried to set up shop in one of the port warehouses. One of his own companies had come across their less than discrete dealings, which had attracted unwanted attention, so Marcone had decided to offer a merger.

A decline of that merger would have resulted in harsher actions. The meeting would be brief and to the point, only requiring his presence to bring a point across: no one undermined Marcone's hold on this city with actions that might bring more than the local PD into play. He really didn't want to handle FBI or Homeland security. It was always a hassle and clogged up his calendar.

Better to do this in swift, decisive actions.

Marcone checked on the time, then continued his day-to-day office routine.

*

Feeling hungry for no other reason than his wizard metabolism, and maybe because endlessly repeating things Murphy had been told numerous times already, Harry wandered around the house in search of something to eat. Marcone had been called away, already on his cell, and from the looks of thing, he wouldn't be back for a while. His stomach was rumbling pitifully when he ran into Hendricks. In the kitchen. Cooking.

Harry blinked at the sight, wondering if he was concussed or had taken a wrong turn into some obscure corner into the Nevernever. A very obscure and never visited corner, he mused, because this… it had Alice in Wonderland potential.

Nathan Hendricks, out of his usual suit and looking like he had just come from football training, was stirring something that smelled incredible. There was already a bowl next to the pot on the oven, waiting to be filled. Next to the table sat a small woolly mammoth Harry recognized as Mouse, who was keeping a close eye on the food making process.

What the...?

"You shouldn't be wandering around," Hendricks growled without even looking up from whatever he was concocting.

"I live here," Harry immediately fought back. "I can wander around wherever I damn well want to!"

It got him a narrow-eyed look as the man finally turned his head toward him for a brief moment. "Don't fall on your ass proving that."

He bristled. "I'm fine!"

Hendricks had the audacity to smirk. "Sure."

Harry glared at him for good measure, but his anger was derailed when Mouse padded over to the oven and whuffled. Hendricks, as if he spoke Temple Dog, took a second bowl and piled something that looked suspiciously like chopped sausage into it. Then he placed that bowl into the ground.

"What…?"

"Relax. It's a non-spicey, low fat, homemade sausage."

"That's not… He eats pizza…" he stuttered. "This…"

"I'm not going to poison your dog, or whatever you call that.

"His name is Mouse."

"I'm quite aware of your inability to name things properly."

"Mouse is a perfectly good name!" he defended his choice. And Hendricks hadn't been around when he had more or less been adopted by this tiny bundle of fur. Back then it had been a great name.

Mouse woofed softly, though it didn't sound like he was defending his master's choice of name for himself. It was more along the lines of wanting more snacks.

"Dresden, you're a colossal pain in the ass," the bodyguard sighed, dropping a few more slices of sausage into the bowl.

"But you love me anyway?" Harry quipped automatically.

"The boss loves you. Don't go screwing that up by getting yourself killed."

Harry blinked. "Uhm. I don't intend to? Not on my bucket list?" He had by now chosen to sit at the table and watch Mouse scarf down the chopped sausage.

His stomach decided it wanted in on that and growled once more.

Hendricks stared at him. "Good," he only stated, then turned back to whatever he was cooking.

It turned out to be rice, peas, carrots, chopped sausage, mixed with a lot of cheese, It tasted heavenly, Harry discovered when a bowl was plonked down in front of him, with a fork.

"Don't hurt yourself with that."

He grimaced, but was too busy chewing and savoring the simple but so very tasty meal to have a good comeback. Hendricks could cook. Would miracles never cease?

Mouse was one happy dog and he had curled up next to the table with a happy doggy sigh.

"Thanks," Harry said when he had scraped his bowl clean.

"You find back on your own or you need a guide dog?"

"Funny guy," he muttered and pushed up, feeling warm and sated and at peace with the world.

Mouse accompanied him, probably to make sure he did get back to the living room. Harry discovered he had apparently wandered over into one of the neighboring houses, completely on automatic and without attention to the changes in décor and whatnot, because Mouse kept nudging him in the hip when he was about to take the wrong turn.

Hendricks was probably laughing his ass off.

*

"Sorry about the crappy date," Dresden muttered late in the evening of November second.

The weather had changed abruptly, which was nothing new, and the bad weather front had already been expected.

The sky was dark and foreboding, the clouds racing across the black and dark gray. The violent wind pushed them ahead faster and faster, and ice cold rain fell like sheets. Everywhere, sewers gurgled, trying to manage the gallons of water, and some basements were flooded. An underground line had to be closed down due to water damage. Traffic had nearly died down by now and everyone who really, really didn't have to be outside wasn't any more.

"I think your interpretation and mine of a date are vastly different, Mr. Dresden." John dragged blunt fingers through the longish hair.

It got him a sigh.

Marcone looked at Harry, whose head was in his lap. He was reading a book while Dresden had dozed, not inclined to move away from his living, breathing cushion with the magic hands. It was incredibly grounding for both of them.

"I think all Halloween dates will be crappy."

"Your godmother has a tendency to visit on your birthdays?"

"No, that was the unexpected and very unwanted icing on an already terrible cake. I meant the monster thing before."

"Hm. Now that counts as a date. It keeps with our tradition."

Harry choked out a laugh and sat up, loose-limbed and looking so softly rumpled, Marcone had to smile.

Thunder rumbled ominously through the twilight darkness, a flash of lightning accompanying the noise.

"Yeah, I think it is. Hope you're not big on birthday celebrations because they will suck all the time when it comes to me. Being born on Halloween is bad enough. Being a wizard born on Halloween is so many times more than bad." He leaned against John with a sigh and Marcone accommodated him. "Yeah, crappy, crappy dates."

"Aside from your godmother's visit, I think it was exactly what I expected on your birthday."

"You would," he grumbled.

John twisted a little and placed a close-mouthed kiss on his lips. The rain beat harder against the panes, almost like hail but not quite yet. The drumming noise of large drops splashing on the roof above had a strangely lulling effect.

"You attract all kinds of trouble, Harry. Why would your birthday be any less than that? Considering it's Halloween, I would have been shocked to have a normal evening."

"Hendricks might just kill me yet," he sighed and lay back down, using John's lap as a cushion again.

Marcone carded his fingers into Dresden's hair and returned to his book, smiling to himself.

tbc...


	17. Chapter 17

John Marcone would never stand in the way of one determined, too stubborn for his own good wizard whom he loved, but right now he was about to make an exception to that private rule. He respected the man connected to him too much not to say something.

"Do you think leaving in your current condition is a sound idea?" he asked calmly.

Harry Dresden was a man who would go up against the most powerful of beings, would throw himself between a monster and an innocent, and he would argue with a god or ancient creature about the perception of right and wrong. He had challenged things so much more powerful than himself, just because he thought someone should resist them.

Now he was sending his own challenge out again, directed at Marcone himself, and John could tell by the stubborn line between his eyes and the equally stubborn set of his mouth that he wouldn't back down, even if it cost him the last of his not so considerable energy.

Well, he made that lack up with sheer determination and mule-headedness.

"I have a business to run!" Harry snapped.

He looked like just walking down the stairs and to the car might be too much for him. Dresden was too pale, looked too worn thin around the edges, like a breeze could topple him.

John raised both hands in a placating manner. "I'm very much aware of it. My men made sure the doors are locked and a sign has been placed to inform potential customers."

"Well, thanks," came the grudging acknowledgement.

Marcone smiled. "You are welcome."

It had been two nights since Bunker Hill, one of which Dresden had spent either unconscious or sleeping. The second day had had more of that, and when he had been awake, Harry had been shuffling around in a fugue state.

"And I still have a business to run, John. Bills don't pay themselves!"

"You're also still recovering."

"I'm fine!"

He raised his eyebrows.

"I am," Harry insisted despondently. "I've told you before and I will tell you again, I don't need a baby-sitter or a chaperone!"

John silently studied the upset and so obstinate man. "I won't imply to know what depleting one's magic feels like, then channeling an impossible force, or how long it takes to recover from what you did, Mr. Dresden," Marcone said calmly, projecting that serenity and balance. "I would simply ask you to reconsider for a few more days."

"I'm not helpless, Marcone! I can defend myself!"

He silently met the angry eyes, saw Harry's temper flare in every twitch, and he kept his own temper under control.

"No, you are not," John told him. "You never were. Not even when you were running on empty and faced a powerful attacker. You, Harry Dresden, are one of the strongest men I know. One of the most powerful magic-users. I am aware of how many times you have been hurt in various ways, had to look for a safe place and heal yourself. Sometimes you didn't even have that time." He met the dark eyes that reflected a million and one emotions, clear to read, very clear to understand. "You burned your pathways this time. I believe it is the worst kind of injury you ever experienced. This time you have the safety to heal. Let yourself heal," he implored.

Harry clenched his hands into fists. His jaw was tight, the line between his eyes not smoothing. He was gearing for a fight, John knew.

"So you can waltz back into your office, one day after you got your shoulder almost bitten off?!" he snarled. "Telling me that you need to keep up appearances! But I can't work my job?!"

"My shoulder wasn't nearly bitten off," Marcone said mildly. "It was scratched."

Harry hissed something through his teeth, looking furious. "You're such an arrogant asshole sometimes! You were attacked and seriously injured, Marcone! You had to go into surgery and physical therapy! You looked like some hellhound's chew toy!"

"There is a difference, Mr. Dresden. The wyldfae attack was a hit on me, disguised as a random supernatural summoning. Showing myself was a tactical decision, a political one, and also a very personal one. There are those who know what I am under the Unseelie Accords. There are those who are a very mundane threat to my organization and everyone associated with it. Showing this kind of weakness would have endangered so much more than just personal pride. You are currently just… stubborn."

The dark eyes flashed and Marcone just watching; waiting.

"I can't just stay here," Harry groaned after a while.

"You can. There is no threat. You can heal. You can recover."

"But…"

"Your cat and your dog are already here. Your apartment doesn't need tending." He raised an eyebrow. "Though Toot-Toot has offered to place a guard there."

Harry groaned again.

"I am the last person to treat you like an invalid or baby you. I respect your ability to power through situations that would have pushed lesser individuals into despair and surrender. You are that strong, Harry, yes. To go out now and ignore what your body needs is foolish, though. There is no need."

The stubborn line was still there, but the dark eyes were filled with indecision.

"Just for once, listen to reason."

Okay, that got him a new flare, this time indignation mixed with anger. The magic flickered and he saw Harry wince, eyes screwing shut for a moment. Marcone held his tongue. He weathered the storm as always and Dresden inhaled sharply, trying to get his emotions back under control. Finally the taller man's shoulders slumped a little. John didn't feel like he had won, like he had defeated an opponent.

"Please give yourself a few more days," he added. "Heal. You did something that would have killed other wizards, had they attempted what you managed. You channeled an energy that could have turned you into a crisp. You can't just bounce back from that."

Harry's lips became a thin line. "You talked to Bob again," he accused, but there was no heat behind it. More like resignation.

"He is a spirit of intellect and has vast knowledge for a reason."

"Tattling about me."

"I am very interested in your health, Harry," he repeated, a little more force behind it. "You are important to me. Very important. On a very personal level."

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it again, looking stunned. "Uhm…"

"Wait until you can defend yourself without breaking open healing pathways."

"I…"

"You are not fine."

Harry sighed and Marcone closed the last distance. He curled his fingers into the lapels of the duster and pulled him the last inches, eyes meeting Harry's. No shields, no masks, just him. He let the other man see him, see his worry, his shared pain, his anger at being unable to help more actively.

"John, I… I can't just hole up in here and hide… It's not who I am… how I work…"

"You are not hiding. You give yourself time to heal and recover. To be able to use magic without pain. There is no case or call for a consultation. There have been no calls, personally or otherwise. You are not fighting against anything supernatural. No one is hunting you, you are not hunting some faerie monster."

"You are surveilling my office," Dresden stated, not even making it a question. Of course he would latch onto that little bit of information.

"I merely see to it that potential clients don't find your absence troubling. As you stated, you have a business." He had men keeping an eye on things, listen to possible calls. "You had two telemarketers call you, but that was about it." He raised an eyebrow.

Dresden glared a little, with no real fire. That storm had run its course and only the last echoes of his anger were still there.

"I think Bob already suggested that you work on what you did at Bunker Hill. Train it. Get accustomed to it. I might not be able to sense magic, but like any skill or ability, I believe it needs training and I firmly believe you need that training."

"Bite me," he muttered. Harry closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. He dropped his head, letting it rest against John's. "'kay," he mumbled. "You win, you asshole."

Marcone slipped his hands underneath the duster, around the narrow waist. "This wasn't about winning," he said quietly. "I care about you very much, Harry Dresden. I don't want a repeat performance of what just happened. I would very much hate it."

"John…"

And then Harry kissed him. Not one of the down and dirty kisses, just a close-mouthed contact, lips sliding against lips.

"I love you, Harry Dresden," Marcone said softly. "I abhor what this did to you, what she pushed you into doing. I understand that to learn you have to go past perceived limits, but this was… uncalled for."

He laughed softly. "You met your share of Sidhe, right?"

"I have. This didn't endear them to me any more than before."

"Hm, yeah. It's a kind of teaching method, to trigger one's potential. There is the soft, coddling way, and the harsher, more painful one."

Marcone narrowed his eyes, feeling himself stiffen, then he forced himself to relax again. He knew Harry had gone through a lot in his life and his teenage years had been filled with the harsher version of training.

"It's like training a muscle," Harry continued. "Sometimes you go past your limit and you pull something and it hurts."

"She pushed you past that limit and more."

"I could always reach for all of this, this primal force," Dresden said, sounding almost calm. "It was at my disposal. I never had control. You gave it to me, you protect me. I have to learn how to deal with what it can do, what it does to me."

"Without burning yourself to a crisp inside."

"Preferably."

"Yes, I'd prefer it a lot."

Harry shrugged out of the duster and Marcone watched him hang it up. He still didn't feel particularly victorious. It was more of a soul-deep relief.

Harry went out to test his magic two days later. John let him. As he had said, he respected the other man and he respected his decision to run those tests outside the townhouse and away from people. Bob had been all for it, too. Apparently Harry had done some easy spell-work in his lab. Since nothing had blown up, Marcone hoped that meant things were healing and under control.

Dresden chose to use his own vehicle, the Blue Beetle, daring John to say anything about his beloved, antiquated death trap of a car.

He didn't.

He knew when a battle couldn't be won.

Bob went along, probably to coach and surveil.

John didn't send anyone after them.

He trusted Harry, he trusted in his ability to defend himself in case of an attack.

"He's doing fine," the skull said when Harry was back.

He had placed Bob on the table and had gone to take a shower, looking a bit windblown and disheveled.

"Blew up some shore line, got himself drenched in lake water, but hey! Could have been worse. He didn't attract mundane or supernatural attention."

Marcone regarded the skull. "Since I saw no bleeding wounds, I would agree."

"He might be a bit sore. Using magic is like training a muscle. He did a real number on that muscle."

John's lips thinned for a moment, then he forced himself to relax. "Good to hear."

"Awww, you really are a worry-wart," Bob teased.

He shot him a narrow-eyed look. The skull sniggered.

Harry walked back into the living room half an hour later, freshly showered, freshly changed, hair still damp. Marcone looked up from where he had read over several propositions he needed to make decisions on, as well as scanning over an offer for a block of buildings he had an interest in acquiring. They were strategically located and in a derelict condition, so buying them would probably be a steal because of the work anyone else would have to put into them.

"Hungry?" he asked, knowing the answer before he even heard the rumble of Dresden's stomach. "You do have a Pavlovian response to that question," he chuckled.

Harry stuck out his tongue, looking young, almost carefree, and very happy. Apparently working with magic after a few days of not straining himself did that to the man.

John just drew him into a small, lazy kiss, felt the warmth of the other body, the scent of the shower still around him.

"What are you in the mood for?"

The dark eyes filled with laughter and teasing. "You really ask the most interesting questions."

"I think feeding you before we attempt any other kind of activities is my priority right now."

"Hm, sexy smooth talker."

They more or less raided the kitchen and Harry scarfed down leftover lasagna heated in the microwave while John made himself a smoothie that Dresden decided looked disgustingly healthy and off-color.

It tasted of mint and strawberries. Harry delved into the taste, into the kiss, made soft, encouraging noises as broad, strong hands ran over his back, down to buttocks.

Seeing how his body normally burned through meals, thanks to a wizard's metabolism, he knew he would probably be hungry again in a short amount of time. A wizard's metabolism and very active sexy times did that to him.

Not that he minded.

Not at all.

John didn't say anything to the tendrils of magic crawling over their skins, wrapping around him like a different kind of embrace. Harry was brimming with it, surrounded by the energy he could command, and it spilled over into his shield, washing through Marcone's system. It was harmless, he barely felt even a tingle, but it was fascinating to watch.

According to Harry, it had never happened before with any of his prior partners.

"It's just you," he murmured, nuzzling against John's neck, delivering a gentle bite that wouldn't leave a mark.

"Should I feel honored?" Marcone teased, tangling his fingers in the unruly hair.

Harry hummed softly, then found his lips and kissed him again, still hungry, almost apologetic, too. Marcone urged him on his back and straddled him, then worked his way down the lean, sinewy body. He swallowed the once again straining erection and sucked hard, relentless, and very intent on having him come fast and hard.

"Damn," Harry breathed as he lay spent and a little breathless after climaxing twice.

Magic still curled around John, almost as if trying to keep him there. He crawled back up the grinning man and draped himself over the warm body. Harry made a happy noise.

"Please tell me you have no pressing engagements today," he murmured.

"I believe I don't. I wisely blocked my calendar."

"Hm, very wise indeed."

"I know a certain wizard who has a low refractory period," John went on playfully.

"I know a certain shield who never complained."

"I never would. I enjoy you, Harry."

The dark eyes reflected a well of emotions. Dresden leaned over and kissed him, gentle and without pressure.

*

The ruby was in a magically locked and secured box. Harry hadn't even tried to access the information in there, too careful and too distrusting of Lea's gift. While he didn't doubt that it was his mother's and that she had intended it as a gift to her son, he wasn't so sure about his abilities right now.

The Ways through the Nevernever were important to wizards. They were neutral pathways between places that otherwise couldn't be reached in a timely manner. Strong wizards had quite an impact on electronics, so flying was something they didn't do. Taking modern or modernish trains or cars was likewise out of the question. So the Nevernever it had to be.

Of course, while the Ways were neutral, they weren't without danger. Those who strayed off course were easy prey and the faeries always tried to lure travelers off course.

His mother had been a frequent traveler, racking up miles. Lots of them. She had probably held the highest status and had all the amenities.

Harry had no intention to explore the map and where it led him just yet.

Bob had agreed. "It's power, boss. A lot of power. Really dangerous. Like you," he added with a little cheek. "But even with what you pulled off, I wouldn't advise it."

Marcone had agreed, which wasn't much of a surprise. His expression had said it all.

And while Harry Dresden was known for some foolhardy and risky stunts, sometimes without a thought to his own health, he agreed, too. Very much. He wouldn't touch the ruby with a very long stick.

tbc...


	18. Chapter 18

He kept going to a very remote, very secluded area near Lake Michigan to test his magical abilities. He wasn't a novice any longer and he didn't need to train, but to access what he had touched twice before would be foolhardy in a closed environment like the house or a city full of people. Harry didn't doubt he could channel the primal power in a battle situation without thinking about it, but right now it was about finesse; delicacy.

The air around him was arctic, the wind coming across the lake only lowering it more, and he felt Winter on its breath. It was a well-known sensation, one that gave way to memories, to sensations of the Winter Knight's mantle, and he reached for that feeling. It coursed through him, strong but not as strong as the elements underneath the echo of the mantle.

Harry spread the fingers of his right hand, the whispers increasing, and he felt the air around him move to his will. He reached for the water not far away, partially frozen and yet the water followed his guidance. He felt the ground underneath pulse with the forces it contained. And the fire deep inside him was a calm but very potent well of energy. He let it all flow together, felt it thrum, pulse and churn along his healed pathways.

Nothing hurt.

The magic force was there, incredibly deep and powerful, the abyss that contained all, but it followed his lead and let him lead.

The knot was unwinding, his whole body was relaxing. He felt a tremor deep within his soul, responding to the call of the elements, to the primal energy.

Snow started to fall and he pushed gently against the individual flakes, making them swirl and dance. It was delicate work, requiring skill and concentration.

The magic followed his guidance,

Dresden exhaled and gently pushed the more primal forces away, but not out of reach. It was there, like a fierce, unnatural creature not even faerie would ever come up with. It waited, patient and endless, letting the human adjust to its demands and its unlimited power.

He felt drained.

He felt better than before.

He was tired.

He was more alive.

It felt good. It didn't hurt. It was just like before and yet he knew that he had taken a humongous step – thanks to Lea. What she had done had forced Harry to throw open all doors, go deep, and now that door was open for good. Magic theoretically had no limit; the practitioner, or more precisely their body, was the limiter. Skill, strength and talent were major factors. A magic user could only channel so much of this endless power until they hit a wall or the magic consumed them. A focus helped when more was needed, but even then there was a threshold that couldn't be crossed without dire consequences.

Lea had unapologetically kicked him over that threshold once again. Hard. Where it had been an unconscious act the first time, this time Harry had actively punched through the wall and made a grab for it to protect the man who meant everything to him. His body had suffered, but he had survived. He had channeled something incredible once more and he hadn't broken. And now, after healing the damage done, he felt more at ease, balanced again.

The magic curled around him, humming and whispering. It was as drawn to him as he was to it. Magic was energy, emotions, light, dark, gray. It was everything. It was creation and it was existence. For Harry it was pure joy to handle, to feel it, to be aware of it.

There was a soft ping and then recognition. The power reacted to a familiar presence, purring and reaching for its anchor and shield. Everything seemed to slide into place. The last tension drained from his body, from his mind, and made way for calmness.

"John."

Marcone stood not far away, bundled up in a thick winter coat, a woolen hat on his head and a scarf wrapped around his neck. Snow whirled around him, an intricate dance of small flocks of white against darkness. There was no sight of Hendricks, but Harry had no doubt that he was near-by. That he wasn't shadowing his boss spoke lengths. Not that Harry had any intention to let his partner come to any harm, but Nathan Hendricks was usually never far from Marcone.

The man stopped no six feet away. He appeared far from cold, absolutely at ease, but Harry murmured a soft phrase and created a protective bubble around him. Marcone raised an eyebrow, amusement clearly visible.

"Comfy?" Harry teased.

"Very."

"Did you bug me?" he asked mildly.

Another mild look. "No. Electronics, Harry. I doubt a bug would have survived your training for more than a second."

"So someone followed me."

There was no answer and Harry scowled at the other man, but he didn't feel angry.

John stepped closer and they nearly bumped shoulders. He gazed out over the dark lake, the wind blowing in strongly. They remained liked that, silent and comfortable with each other, and the magic brushed over both men. Harry felt deeply settled in himself and at peace; balanced.

"I did not have you followed," John said after a while.

"Really."

"I talked to Bob."

Harry sighed. He had been coming to the same spot because it was convenient and remote. "I really need to talk to him about privacy."

Marcone lifted a corner of his mouth into a smile.

They walked back after a while, heading toward the waiting limo that was clearly Marcone's.

"We can pick up your car tomorrow."

"And leave it here for anyone to steal it?" Harry asked, putting some outrage into the question.

"I believe you would have to pay a thief to take that contraption."

"No dissing the car, John."

"It wasn't my intention. It might one day be a collector's item," Marcone teased.

Hendricks got out and opened the door. Harry felt a blast of warm air and groaned.

"Unfair," he muttered and slid inside.

"Have you eaten?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You are mother-henning again."

Marcone gave him the raised eyebrows and Harry slumped back in the soft leather seats. So John signaled Hendricks to swing by a drive-through. It was a sandwich shop and though he had protested, Dresden ordered an obscene amount of sandwiches, chips, and a dozen cookies.

“What?” he had asked defensively as he put the bags away.

“You’re still growing, I know,” Marcone remarked dryly.

"Okay, no cookie for you. More for me and Hendricks."

It got him a bland look through the rearview mirror from Hendricks, but there was a flicker of surprise and something of appreciation in the blue eyes that John easily identified.

"Mr. Hendricks prefers white chocolate chip macadamia. Also, I am paying for the food. But since I know there won't be a crumb left, I surrender my sandwich to you, Mr. Dresden."

"And now you're guilt-tripping me?"

Marcone smirked. "Has that ever worked before?"

Harry huffed. "Not going to feed your ego, John."

They wove through traffic and arrived home just after one a.m. Harry handed Hendricks a paper bag that contained a lot more than just one cookie, surprising the bodyguard again.

"For services rendered."

And he disappeared inside the house.

"Night," Hendricks rumbled.

"Good night, Nathan. Enjoy your spoils."

It got Marcone a little chuckle, the blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Same."

*

Throughout the weeks of November, Harry had moved some more of his stuff, well, the important things, to Marcone's. And Bob had laughed himself silly.

He ignored him.

"Why don't you just pack it all up already and finally move, Dresden? You have a shiny new lab in his home! Your home! I can feel the protections in this place and they are off the charts!" Bob cackled.

Yes, he had a shiny new lab and no, he hadn't let John pay for it, thankyouverymuch! And yes, he was still fighting him on that front every step of the way, romantic gestures or not.

Contrary to the bone, that was Harry Dresden in a nutshell.

*

They finally buried the hatchet over a steak and a lot of beer at Mac's. It wasn't like Harry Dresden, PI and Chicago's only wizard for hire, could just disappear out of Lieutenant Karrin Murphy's life as a cop. They had also been friends for way too long to keep up the animosity. Ignoring each other when they inevitably crossed paths on a supernaturally influenced case also didn't work.

"You are out of your mind," she said, on her second bottle.

"Maybe. But it's real, Murphy. It's there. It's… that's it."

"Gentleman Johnny Marcone is your shield." She took a deep pull. "Still hasn't settled in."

"Took me five years to acknowledge it. Nearly blew myself apart. I know. Took me a while, too."

She studied him over the bottle of beer. "He can't hurt you?"

"Through the connection? No. He gives me stability and control. Independence."

"You're hanging up the responsibility as a warden, too?"

"Nope. The Council has no idea and I'm keeping it that way. It's safer for all involved."

She nodded. "You were always a conundrum, Harry Dresden. Now even more so."

And didn't he know it.

"I'm still not happy about it."

He knew that. It was in every twitch, in every look, every gesture. He didn’t really give a damn about it.

"I can't change it, Karrin. I don't really want to change it. I know it's not perfect, but relationship is."

"It's perfect in the eyes of the magic," she pointed out.

"It involves more than that, but yes."

"You're not working for him," she stated.

"No."

"Living together?"

"No."

Okay, not really a bald-faced lie, but he had his own place, and his office, and the house was still a secondary residence. His papers all declared he lived somewhere else.

"Pull the other one, Dresden."

"I commute," he gritted.

"I will kick his ass, no matter who or what he is, if he steps out of line, understood? The moment the police can pin anything on him, he's gone."

They wouldn't find a crumb. Marcone was too good, too professionally accomplished, protected. And everyone right up to the mayor and the commissioner knew that the moment Marcone fell, a turf war of epic proportions would be kicked lose.

"Only fair," he simply said.

Murphy's expression said it all, but she finally dropped it.

*

The Freehold of Chicago was starting to become a gray area all of its own. Not like Macanally's, which was a recognized and signed-in neutral territory of the Unseelie Accords, but the whole city was no longer a hot zone for the supernatural. Harry kept more than one eye out for trouble and he was quick to discourage amateur practitioner, over-ambitious warlock-wanna-bes, and the occasional faerie who thought they could nap a child or feed on an unsuspecting human. He kept busting ass, but not as frequently as before since supernatural activity had gone down. Also, it wasn't as evil as before. Vampire activity had gone down even more, though they weren't leaving the city in swarms.

The White Council had become restless, but no one had openly confronted him. There had been more than one visitor who had never engaged Harry directly, watching and then suddenly disappearing, and Dresden knew it was a mind game. Keep him on his toes. They were biding their time, undecided on what was going on and how deeply one Harry Dresden was involved. The answer that he was smack in the middle of it all would probably set them off on another witch-hunt for his head.

So far, he was doing his wizardly PI work, kept the streets clean of unsavory characters, assessed possibly magical heirlooms, and removing some specters from a family business.

"I'm impressed," Thomas remarked, lounging on Harry's couch, going through his stash of beer like a pro. "Marcone's turning his hold into a Protectorate. Capital P."

"Hm?" Harry shuffled some papers, then pushed them all into a box to sort later. "What are you talking about?"

"I hear things, little brother. Lots of things."

"He is the Freeholding Lord of Chicago. He enforces that claim."

Not always in a way Harry was comfortable with. Blurred lines, he reminded himself each and every time. Really, really blurry ones. He didn't exactly turn a blind eye, and there were heated arguments about Marcone's use of sometimes very destructive force. Just like Marcone liked to tear him a new one when Dresden went into the fray without back-up and came home with broken bones or bleeding wounds. Yes, John Marcone had an aversion to how Harry Dresden dealt with the supernatural, too.

"Right now he enforces it with iron-clad contracts that not even the Fae can squirm out of," Thomas added, smirking more. "And they love their contracts. Like I said, I'm impressed."

As was Harry, who had watched his partner go through a ton of paperwork from lawyers who were paid more by the hour than others of their trade made in a month. Everything was absolutely without loopholes.

"And you heard about that where?" he inquired.

"Here and there. Whispers in dark corners. And Lara's doing some heavy political maneuvering."

He raised his eyebrows.

Thomas shrugged. "She and Marcone have a kind of agreement concerning Chicago and the presence of the White Court within the boundaries of the city. Looks like they have started to redefine that agreement. There's an insane amount of maneuvering, like some complicated chess play."

Harry's brow furrowed, but he knew when to keep out of matters. Well, sometimes. Most of the times. At least once a year. Leap year.

"But I'm even more impressed the Council hasn't given you the boot as a warden. They must know something's up." Thomas gave him an expectant look.

"I doubt they'd just let me leave the ranks. They made me warden to keep an eye on me, have a new leash on which to tug, but I haven't done anything they can call wrong. Morgan's been in and out a few times. I saw him and some rookie. They know nothing can stick. Keeping me nose clean."

His brother had the audacity to laugh.

Harry just threw a pillow at him.

The Council really had nothing on him at all. Dresden was clearly aware that it was also how Marcone maneuvered his every move, how he made allies or eliminated what threatened his city. Chicago had always been a smoothly managed city – managed by John Marcone, of course – and he had made sure it was becoming protected, though not under the Accords. It had taken up a kind of gray area where it was still outside the Accords and not Neutral Territory, but it was also not a free for all supernaturally speaking. 

While Dresden still worked supernatural cases, the Big Bad had kept its head down. Only the White Court was residing in the city and Lara Raith had a cease-fire with Marcone, both parties tolerating the other as long as neither tried to poach on the other's territory. According to Thomas, that cease-fire was transforming into something else. 

Yes, the White Council was becoming a bit restless, eyeing it all with discomfort, distrust and maybe a little fear. He was still warden, but it felt different. Not like the Doom. Not like something was about to come down on them with unrelenting force.

As John had already said, they were good together. Really good. Not always on common ground and with lots of loud arguing on Harry's side, but they managed.

There are a lot of different shades of gray. He liked that color as much as John did. He liked their color.

And he would defend it if he had to.

Thomas' smirk said it all. He raised his bottle like a toast. "To interesting times."

Harry grimaced. "That's more of a curse."

"If you believe in it. But those will be interesting times."

*

Harry's things had kept migrating to the townhouse. Not everything, but small, personal items. And some books. One of his Navajo rugs. More books. His original Star Wars poster. And some more books. Alright, so his lab had that frat house look to it, but it was his lab and not some magazine cut-out.

Mister had had no trouble with his new territory. He had established dominance over the neighborhood pets in no time. Not to mention some of Marcone's men, who were either cowed by the huge animal or totally enamored and scratching Mister's ears. Mouse didn't argue with a large backyard that couldn't be seen from the front and it opened toward a small forest of trees that guarded that backyard from prying eyes.

The whole spread-out set-up also gave Harry a feeling of his own place, his own world, despite living together with someone; something he hadn't done forever. It had always been a cat, a dog and the skull in the subbasement. Now there were also a bodyguard, a Valkyrie, and probably staff, which he never really saw.

It was a slow, organic process. He was moving, one step and knickknack at a time.

John said nothing. There were times they didn't run into one another, when either man was busy with their personal business and work. There were nights Harry was immersed in his lab and he didn't crawl out of the basement until the wee hours of the morning, half asleep and yawning something unintelligible as he passed Marcone, who was having coffee and heading out.

And then there were the nights they shared a bed and Harry enjoyed having John in his arms, blowing his brains out or getting his blown out, making up for lost time and not seeing each other.

Okay, so one time he had been caught in the backwash of some faerie spell and hadn't the results been interesting? Harry had felt like sixteen with an over-active sex-drive. They had both been sweaty and sticky when things were finally wearing off.

He still paid rent for the apartment, all the old frat-house furniture was still there, and the lab held some basic things, but he had really moved, more or less.

There was no triumph in John's eyes. It was actually more along the lines of relief. More ease, less tension. Yes, Marcone was protective of what was his, of the people who worked for him, of those who meant something to him, but Harry had never really seen it in the past years up until their finalized connection. It was humbling to know that this man cared so much for him, just for him, and that it didn't come out of trying to buy Harry's affections or his loyalty.

It was just John, what he was at heart.

The wards had undergone a final change and they were heavily backed up by their bond. Harry felt them react to whoever moved about, actually categorizing the different presences, right down to giving Hendricks and Gard a priority status.

He also finally decided to tell John about a closely-kept secret. Marcone listened, face unreadable, but very attentive and without judgment.

"Thomas Raith is your brother by blood?"

"Same mother, different father."

"His father was a Raith. Lord Raith."

Harry shrugged.

"Your brother is a White Court vampire. He is a Raith heir who has gone into business for himself as a hairstylist and beauty salon owner."

"Well, yeah, that about sums it up quite nicely. He actually enrolled in cosmetology school, paid it by himself, got the degree and all."

"A male Raith heir."

"Uh, yeah."

"The only surviving male Raith heir." Marcone raised his eyebrows. "You have an interesting family tree, Harry. No one knows?"

"No. No one at all, aside from Bob, of course. Not even Michael. Too dangerous."

"You told me."

"I trust you."

Marcone smiled. "That simple? You also trust your friends."

"Yes, it's that simple. I trust you, John. You are my shield. I can't tell anyone else, because it might one day end up out there, for others to know. No one can."

It got him silence and raised eyebrows. Harry exhaled sharply, air hissing between his teeth.

"Thomas is family, John. Aside from Ebe, the only one I have left. I have to keep him safe."

"I understand."

"You do?"

Marcone smiled warmly. "I understand the need to protect someone, to keep them safe, Harry. Very much."

He blinked. "Uh…"

_Shield, Harry_ , his brain reminded him.

John's expression grew more and more amused as he watched the realization dawn on Dresden's face.

"I promise your brother will be safe within my city, Mr. Dresden," he said formally. "You have my word as the Baron of Chicago, the Freeholding Lord under the Unseelie Accords, and as your shield."

The power of the words resonated within his magic and he felt it curl around the other man, brush over him in a gentle caress.

"Thank you," he answered earnestly, relief worming itself into his voice.

"Your brother knows about us?"

"Yeah. He said it was obvious." He made a little gesture indicating both of them. "Us. We were obvious. No idea how, but well…" Another shrug. "I trusted him with the connection, too."

Marcone studied him for a long time. "Alright," he finally said.

"Really?"

It got him a brief smile. "You know your friends and allies best. I trust in your judgment."

"That would be a first," he muttered.

"Not always when it comes to confronting an enemy head-on or conjuring large fireballs in enclosed spaces, but in this regard, yes."

He saw the laughter. He could read it between the lines.

"Jerk."


	19. Chapter 19

Christmas time had come about as always: suddenly and without warning. At least to many people who found that the 25th was coming closer and closer and they had no gifts shopped, no trees bought and no decorations up.

Harry Dresden didn't have a tree in his apartment and he didn't have one in his office. He had never had one before in his life. Not as a child when he had still had a real family. Not with DuMorne, and later not with Ebe McCoy. Buying a tree in the city had been out of the question due to his budget and also because he really didn't need one.

He had always more or less ignored the festivities, even if he hadn't been able to overlook the Christmas decorations aggressively popping up everywhere, the stressed-out shoppers, the jingles, the dressed-up people, and the endless caroling.

Now he couldn't ignore the humongous tree at Executive Priority Health every time he walked inside. It had appeared at the beginning of December and was lushly and professionally decorated, and brightly lit in the evening hours. The reception desk nearly disappeared behind the monstrosity.

At least the townhouse was free of anything even resembling Christmas decoration.

The week leading up to the seasonal highlight was also filled with a surge in supernatural activities. Some faerie had decided to dress up as some kind of demented elf and was terrorizing the neighborhoods. Some of the homeless went missing in certain areas and rumors spread of monsters in the shadows.

So he investigated.

It was his job.

It was his city, his to guard from things that went bump in the night, and he didn't like anything taking up hold inside the Hold and scaring, possibly eating, those down on their luck.

The faerie looked like something out of a Christmas horror flick. C-movie, with bad make-up and really obvious prosthetics. But Twinkletoes was tremendously strong, had enough fire power to give him a run for his money, and it had some lower faerie henchmen that featured long, curved claws, fangs, and were really, really fast.

Yes, Harry Dresden did earn his keep that night, even if there was really no one paying him. He hadn't been hired by a private person, nor by the PD to consult on the string of disappearances of the homeless. Just another freebie, topped by going up against something nightmarishly strong and fast.

So in the early hours of December 26th Dresden limped home, close to blacking out sometimes, and only because his body knew the way instinctively didn't he just collapse behind a dumpster and stay there.

As it was, it was a close call.

He fell through the door, barely strong enough to push it open as it stuck and refused to budge. With a frustrated cry he finally managed and just about closed it before keeling over on his couch. Even the bedroom was too far away.

Harry had no idea how much time had passed when he finally roused enough to take in his environment, but he knew he was still in a bad state. His left side hurt where he had been kicked so hard he might have cracked a rib. There was caked blood on his stomach when sharp claws had slashed him. And his head hurt.

A clear sign that he had exerted himself. Sure, he had an insane arsenal magically speaking, but he was a child in wizard terms and his body wasn't used to what he was doing. Fighting against several opponents, one of them very adept at confronting human wizards and beating the crap out of them, had taken a toll. He had thrown up shields, tried to obliterate the hench-things, and he had finally conjured enough power to send the freaky elf-thing back to the Nevernever with the strong warning against trying this again.

Okay, so he had also started a dumpster fire and he had probably set off the alarms in a near-by business because of the shockwave of power that had rolled through the back alley.

"Ouch," he groaned as he rolled off the couch in an undignified flail and nearly bashed his elbow at the couch table.

Harry managed to get into the shower, but it was a close call, and somehow he dried himself off and got into bed where he lay like the limp impersonation of a powerful wizard he was.

The apartment looked impersonal; like some cheap rental where the landlord hadn't bothered to add anything but old furniture and a worn rug. There was nothing personal left; nothing that meant anything.

Harry dropped off once more, rousing only when his body decided it was time. He found toast that tasted as bland as it looked and coffee that tasted better than he had expected. Nothing else had remained in his fridge.

 _When did I put toast in my fridge?_ he wondered.

His eyes roamed around the sparse place and there was a pang of something deep inside. This had been his apartment for a very long time; actually since he had moved to Chicago. It had been his safe haven, his home. It never had the strong personal wards of a true home, something that was his alone, because it had been a rental and utilitarian to a degree.

It didn't feel like the house; the one he shared with John. The place that had a threshold so thick and strong, it might even hold off against a combined blow from the Senior Council's most powerful wizards. It was a place where he had his own area to retreat to, where John had his office and equally private rooms. It was theirs and it was his and it was John's.

The apartment… was just an apartment.

And yet he was reluctant to part from it.

Because…

Because…

There was no reason. Really. None at all. The stubborn part inside him that had insisted that he didn't want to rely on Marcone, his money, his properties, his wealth… everything the man had and was… that part had finally shut up and he had accepted that he wasn't a bought or owned wizard. He was still himself, still Harry Dresden, and he still grumbled, argued and sometimes shouted, but the emotional connection was the primary bond between them.

John did what he did in his own way. He had always done it, had always looked out for Dresden, and Harry knew the emotions were very real. Like his own.

Bob had hinted at it often enough and he had more or less verbally kicked him several times.

And still, the place was here; he paid for an empty space because he was hanging on to memories… a sap… an idiot, actually.

Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his damp, tangled hair. He winced as he encountered a bump. Still aching, he located his clothes and found they looked as bad as they had last night. He had no replacements here and unlike certain namesake wizards in his book, he couldn't just mutter a spell and repair them.

His duster hid most of the damage, though he had a big tear in his jeans. Oh well, it might just conform to some fashion trend or other. Thankfully, the populace of Chicago tended to ignore those around them they didn't want to get in contact with, so taking the bus and then walking the last long stretch wasn't too bad. Due to the date, there was hardly anyone going his way. People were either still sleeping or already heading toward the shops to exchange their gifts, harass retail workers, or complain about too many people doing the very same thing as they wanted to use their gift cards on stuff.

Part of Harry reminded him that he had missed Christmas, that maybe John had expected him to be home for some kind of celebration dinner. Another part was too tired to contemplate what they might have done, since Marcone had been busy at the office, too. The man was a workaholic and he hardly took note of holidays, weekends or any other form of celebration.

Yeah, they fit, Harry thought fuzzily as he raided the kitchen for food other than dry toast, then lugged his loot into his room and dressed in less burned and torn clothes spattered in blood.

*

He hadn't missed any form of dinner, thankfully. Dresden remembered John saying something about a reception at a high-end gallery where Marcone had been schmoozing some politicians, making nice and gathering intel, so to speak. He had called it an informal meeting, but the way he had dressed, he had been prepared to go into a battle of a different sorts. Everyone who was anyone in this city, or had enough money to donate his entry fee, came to shake hands, donate even more money, meet others, chat and generally overindulge in champagne and expensive food from an exquisite buffet.

It was John's dance floor and he worked it like the professional he was. Harry had no idea how he always made it through such mind-numbing meetings without losing his cool. He moved through the crowds like the shark he was, scenting for blood, heading for the elusive prey and taking a bite out of those too innocent to see a predator when it was hunting. A shark with a tiger's soul, Harry had once mused. An apex predator, smooth and charming, all good looks and charisma, well-educated and with the monetary power to back up his plans.

"Years of practice," had been answer to that particular question. "You can win a fight with raw power and threats, but the long run, the marathon so to speak, is won by those with a different kind of talent."

Yes, politics weren't Harry's strong suit and the few times he had been caught up in supernatural, wizardly politics, he had wanted to just bang his head against the table. The intricacies usually escaped him and he hated the clauses and how people talked around the actual topic, always pulling and pushing, trying to gain the upper hand, even while they were already losing, and how veiled threats and underhanded moves made his blood boil.

Yes, maybe John had been like that when he had first tried to rope one Harry Dresden into working for him, but Harry had never responded politically there either. He had never hidden his distaste, his anger, his temper of any sorts.

"While that makes you an attractive package," Marcone had told him with a purr, "it doesn't endear you to others."

"Huh. Might explain the White Council's stance on my continued existence," he remarked flippantly. "You never objected."

"Oh, I did. You simply didn't see it as such or you are a pro at ignoring the level of threat and danger you are in."

"Pro," Harry declared with a cheeky smile. "Very much a pro."

*

The faerie hunting in the streets of Chicago hadn't had any visible ties to either Court, but Harry still suspected it had been of Winter.

"It could be conjured as an infraction of my non-aggression treaty with Winter," John remarked, sounding casual and almost bland. His expression belied that tone, though. There was a dark fire in the green eyes that spoke of his anger.

"If you can trace Twinkletoes back to Winter."

Marcone raised an eyebrow at the name, but Harry ignored the teasing light. It had been hard to ignore the amount of glitter the thing had apparently spray-painted everywhere to make itself into some kind of terrifying Christmas decoration. He had no idea where it had gotten the stuff from, but the glitter hadn't helped; it had been more of an eye-sore because of it.

"While the Queens like to think they have absolute control over their subjects, there are the occasional rogues and daring hot heads. It would be attributed to some lone action. Also, you weren't attacked personally, John."

"Taking lives in my territory constitutes as a personal attack."

Harry grunted and shrugged. "Like I said, thin ice. Bringing it up at an Unseelie Accords meeting would probably end with pissing off Winter, giving more power to Summer, or showing weakness because you file grievance after one little tango. You also weren't directly involved and I took care of it. No harm no foul."

"I agree."

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. "Are you trying to teach me politics, Marcone?" he asked hotly.

"Apparently it worked. You didn't propose to charge forward, damn the consequences."

"Hey! I sometimes think before I leap!"

"Key word being sometimes?"

"I hate you."

"You are growing, Mr. Dresden," John purred as he walked around the desk in his private office. He had been doing some intense paper work all day long. "It seems something rubs off now and then."

"And you really need to work on the pick-up lines. That one was bad, if you intended to have this lead to sex. Office sex." Harry grinned cheekily and waggled his eyebrows.

Marcone smirked. "Not everything leads to sex. And that waggle was atrocious."

"Hm, but you recognized it as such. You should see my come hither look."

"I'd rather not."

Harry wrapped nimble fingers around the blood red tie, silky and hellishly exclusive like all of Marcone's bespoke wardrobe, roping him closer. John started maneuvering him backwards.

Okay, so his sex life had improved and his flirting was still bad, but Harry liked getting his hands on his partner and the desire was reciprocated. Apparently John Marcone felt the same when it came to tall, gangly wizards with no taste in clothing, because Harry usually came out of their encounters well-fucked and pleasantly sore.

His knees hit the couch and he flopped back, pulling Marcone with him. For Dresden it was an uncoordinated maneuver – he blamed the assorted bumps and bruises, not to mention the sore ribs and the healing scratches over his belly -- while John made it look fluid and graceful.

"Seeing as you look like a faerie's punching ball, I'd say we postpone anything more strenuous until you have healed," Marcone murmured as he straddled him and leaned in to kiss him.

Harry was only too happy to comply, humming appreciatively into the open-mouthed kiss. 

"I can think of a few not so strenuous things. And I'm fine," he mumbled when they came up for air.

"Let's call it a principle of mine," John replied, pale green eyes serious and still so very hot.

"I'm all for you having principles, but…" Harry cupped the firm buttocks and kneaded gently, "I also feel like I really want you to blow me."

"I think that can be arranged," was he smooth reply.

*

New Year's started with a bang; literally. One of the empty, derelict warehouses went up in fire and flames, with an assortment of colorful explosions. The news reports ran with a story about illegal fireworks being stored there.

Marcone knew better.

Especially since he was there to back up a wizard set on banishing a drug-dealing minor warlock Harry had been trying to flush out of the city. The man had been a thorn in Marcone's side for his bumbling and interfering enterprise, so Dresden had investigated where the new drug had come from. The police had been on the same track, so it had been more or less a collaboration with Lieutenant Murphy, who had grudgingly hired Dresden as a consultant.

Too many overdoses had led to unrest in the drug scene, with minor fights and one major drive-by as tempers flared and people accused one another of sullying the trade. Marcone had kept a lid on things, issuing just enough threats to keep a false peace, but it had only been a matter of time.

And then they had finally found the man behind the bad drugs. Harry had been on fire; and he had set things on fire. John had watched in appreciation and not just a little bit of awe as Harry had fought the two spider-like creatures the warlock had apparently conjured as his pets, calling on power that he hadn't been able to channel mere months ago. The warlock was foaming at the mouth, spewing all kinds of wild slurs and screeching about taking over the city as his own, but in the end it only took a well-placed bullet to bring him down. Hendricks hadn't killed him, no. The spider-things that Harry had insisted on calling Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum had turned on their master the moment he was bleeding and weak.

"That's what you get for conjuring demonic spiders!" Harry yelled, voice rough and scratchy. He had burned down everything, spiders included.

The fight had drained him and he was absolutely exhausted in the end, but he was victorious.

That Hendricks had to drag him out of the fire didn't dampen his spirit. He was grinning like a loon, weaving on his feet, high on magic and low on energy at the same time.

"Wizard: One. Big Uglies: Butt Kicked," he declared.

Marcone looked at him, the soot streaked hair and face, the way he was clearly on his last leg energy-wise, but the light in those dark eyes was full of fire.

"You blew up one of my properties again," he remarked as he holstered his gun.

He had dressed up in armor and had come prepared. After the last stunt Harry had pulled, he had gone after him without a moment of hesitation.

Harry waved him off. "You wanted to tear that thing down anyway."

Marcone inclined his head, trying to hide his smile. "So you did me a favor?"

"Hm. Always."

Hendricks grabbed a fist full of duster as Harry stumbled toward the limo, guiding him.

"Paws off, I can walk, Cujo!"

"Doubtful," came the rumble, but Hendricks let go.

Harry promptly fell against the car. "I just need a little pick me up," he mumbled.

"Any preference?" John asked amiably.

Another hand-wave. "Burger. Fries. Shake. Bed."

"Mr. Hendricks, you heard the man."

Blue eyes narrowed and Hendricks scowled, but he got into the car. They were off just as the fire brigade tore toward the burning building.

Murphy called just as they pulled away from a burger joint and Harry gave her a briefing between bites of burger and stuffing fries into his mouth. Apparently the Lieutenant was a professional at translating Dresden Talk With Food In His Mouth. Knowing him as long as she did, Marcone didn't have a doubt.

"You're welcome," Harry said cheerfully into the phone. "Cleaned up a little. Sorry about the fire."

There was some yelling John couldn't make out and he didn't try to hide his amusement.

Harry finished his milkshake, answering a few more questions, then called his good-byes. He grinned as he looked at Marcone, looking still cruelly tired, but the food had rejuvenated him enough.

"Let's not do that again," he declared.

"I would prefer not to," John agreed.

*

Some people might argue that it had taken him way longer than it should have to make this decision. Others would probably call him an idiot, for a different reasons, though.

But Harry had needed the time to go through all the arguments in his head, sometimes extensively, almost close to getting a whiteboard and writing out the pros and cons of it all. Maybe it had also taken the last two attacks, both of which had shown him his limits but also how far he had gone past his training already. Maybe it had been the way Marcone so calmly went into the fray with him, how they worked seamlessly, migrating back to the townhouse to tend to their wounds. Well, mostly Harry's.

Bob had been highly entertained whenever he had used the skull as a sounding board.

"You know you want to," had been his usual summarization of Harry's endless seeming rants.

"Yes, but…"

"Just do it already! You waited years to get laid by the one guy who gave you absolute control of that freaking arsenal of magic you're packing. What's so special about this now, boss?"

It was always the same.

Always.

"You're just being your obstinate self, Dresden."

"Will the peanut gallery please shut up?!"

"This is really, really painful," the gallery in question only quipped. "Like just about every personal decision you've made for, oh, I don't know… years!"

And Harry could argue himself into a coma and back out of it again.

"Do you really think it's that much of a big step?" the skull asked, voice suddenly more serious and very reasonable. "It's not."

"It is, Bob," he muttered.

"Hopeless," came the long-suffering sigh. "It's been close to a year now!"

And still…

Was there any doubt that this wasn't permanent? No. Actually, none at all.

"Let yourself have this," Bob implored. "It's yours."

Yes, it was. No strings attached. No second guessing, no manipulations, no mind-control, nothing.

This was his.

He made a decision.

It might have been so much easier if the place had simply fallen victim to a building fire, but the Powers didn't give him that graceful exit.

*

John Marcone looked at the stack of papers with the messy bow wrapped around them, reading over the confirmation letter on top. His brows dipped down, then he raised his eyes to meet Harry's.

"Mr. Dresden?"

"Late Christmas present?"

Eyebrows rose fractionally. Harry stood his ground. "You really need an explanation?" he tried.

He had waltzed into John's office, the one he kept at Executive Priority, handing over his 'present' with a "There you are" and nothing much else.

"Usually, I would like one. In words." Marcone placed the papers on his desk and walked around it. "This time, no. I can read. I'm simply… surprised. The question that can't be answer by this bundle is: why now?"

"Well, I had a hard time coming up with a Christmas present… and then forgot all about festivities anyway, and suddenly there's a new year… and it kinda slipped my mind… but here it is. Belated Merry Christmas or whatever." He tried a grin and failed.

The eyebrows dipped a little. "We have never exchanged gifts."

"There's always a first."

Marcone's face reflected exactly what he thought of Harry Dresden's mental capacities right now. Or his sanity.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "You made me an offer I couldn't refuse?" he joked.

Okay, so Godfather jokes weren't new to him and while not appreciated, tolerated. He got a small smile and a shake of his head.

"You didn't have to cancel your lease, Harry."

"It burned a hole in my pocket."

"To stay with your bad movie references, I made you an offer regarding your apartment and you refused. I never asked again and I was under the impression you wanted to keep the apartment for personal reasons."

His mouth became a thin line. "First of all, I don't take your money. I never have, I never will."

"I'm still very much aware of it. You made a decision, though?"

Harry shrugged. "And second, seeing how I'm always here… I mean, the place is collecting dust and there's hardly anything there but old furniture, not to mention there's nothing at all in the fridge…"

Another mild smile. "So it is a matter of convenience?"

"Hardly. The commute is longer."

Marcone chuckled and closed the distance. "You are still a contrary, mule-headed, argumentative and very much obstinate man, Mr. Dresden."

"It's a knack. And you love me for it."

"And I love you," was the quietly echoed confirmation. "Even if you are romantically challenged."

"Romanti… uh, what?"

Marcone shook his head, smirking.

"Asshole! And I'm paying my share of the utilities," he added, struggling not to feel like he was making a fool out of himself again. He knew he was failing. "My share of using whatever you're paying for this place."

"It's covered."

His lips formed a stubborn line and he narrowed his eyes. "I'm not living at your expense, John!"

"You are not."

"And don't pull that shield crap on me! I'm not a kept man!"

Marcone burst out laughing once more. A real, heartfelt laugh. "Harry… If you feel you have to give money to something, please donate it to the local children's hospital or the bird sanctuary."

The stubborness grew.

"Nothing I offer or give to you ever comes with a price," Marcone told him, voice low and serious. "You know that. The house is ours. Not mine. I know you can feel the strength of the threshold. I was assured by Miss Gard that she has never come in contact with such wards before. Your magic accepted this place, is woven deep within it."

It was actually a fortress by now, Harry thought faintly. Whatever tried to cross the threshold would get the magical equivalent of a titanium door slammed into their face. Fusing Gard's and his magic together had resulted in this protection.

"If you insist to have your name on the papers, my lawyers will accommodate you."

"What? No! John, that's not it!"

Marcone met his outburst silently. Harry shook his head. Yes, he had given up his apartment. Yes, John and he were the magical equivalent to married, though it wouldn't hold up in the mundane courts. And no, he didn't plan on waltzing into the registry office, thank you so very much!

But still… he was contrary to the end. He needed to fight every step of the way. Even when the offer was made with no ill intentions to ensnare him. And even when he had made the first move.

"This is insane," he murmured again.

Marcone pulled him close and Dresden leaned in to place a soft kiss on John's lips. He felt the magic around him, felt it like a comforting hum in the back of his mind, in every molecule of his being. It approved.

"Even if a stack of papers and a lease termination letter can't be compared to a nice bottle of wine or dinner, I can appreciate their meaning," Marcone remarked, sounding amused.

"I wrapped a bow around them."

John grinned. "That you did."

"And that stuff you drink costs an arm and a leg. Who spends so much on wine?"

"I like the taste."

"I can do dinner."

"Hm."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Even in a restaurant!"

"I don't doubt that you clean up very nicely, Mr. Dresden. I have seen you in a tux and I have to say I approve. Knowing you as I do, sharing living space and food, I'd say pizza would do nicely."

He scowled at the smirking man. "Sometimes I can't decide whether you are insulting me or being a nice guy."

Marcone pulled him into a close-mouthed kiss. "Yes."

"And don't come complaining when something goes boom around here," Dresden muttered.

Strong, broad hands slid under his duster. "I never do. Unless it brings down the house. Then we need to talk."

*

The rest of January actually turned out to be much calmer, with nothing more than a few minor incidents that didn't require Marcone's personal attention. Harry was chasing werewolves or finding lost pets, keeping the mass destruction down to absolute zero.

It was in the first week of February that matters took off once again.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okies! I hope I didn't botch this one up too badly... One of the hardest chapters to write, but not because of the contents. It was the character... *fingers crossed*

"There is a gentleman here to see you."

Marcone looked up from his work, meeting the steel-blue gaze of his security consultant, and because he knew the Valkyrie so well he could he see her displeasure at this visitor's arrival.

"I wasn't aware of an appointment," he answered mildly.

"His arrival was… sudden."

He leaned back, brows dipping down. "I see. Did he introduce himself?"

"Senior Council member Ebenezar McCoy. I believe you know him."

"Not personally." But he knew of him. "Any… company we might have to expect in his wake?"

"Questionable, but we are prepared."

Marcone nodded at her to let their visitor enter. He doubted he could stop a wizard of McCoy's power and experience, though he didn't think the man would risk antagonizing him. He smoothed his expression into blank and professional, reflecting not a single emotion, body loose and still at the ready.

"Baron Marcone."

He didn't rise from his executive chair, leaning back in a way that relayed ease and relaxation. "Mr. McCoy. Or would you prefer Councilor?" John greeted the man.

McCoy waved it off. "Unnecessary. It's not an official visit."

Marcone inclined his head, taking in the slightly stocky man, bald, with a full gray beard, dressed in an outfit that spoke of the homestead he ran. He hadn't dressed up, nor had he thrown on the ceremonial robes of his standing. He rather looked like he had walked from his farm through a portal and arrived in Chicago. That might even be the truth. Keen eyes that belied his age met Marcone's, though not directly.

"Then we can break with the titles altogether," John said blandly. "How may I be of service?"

It got him a smile, knowing and sharp. Ebenezar McCoy took a seat without being offered one, answering Marcone's clear provocation with one of his own. John didn't react.

"As I said, it's not an official visit. You are quite aware of who I am, I believe."

"Quite."

Senior Council member, Harry's grandfather, his mentor, the man with whom Harry had been placed after Justin DuMorne's death, and also the man who would have had to deal with the teenager in a permanent manner should he slide to the dark side of magic.

Dresden had told him one day and it hadn't endeared the White Council to Marcone any more than before. He had felt a surge of such fury, it had surprised even him. Harry had been a child. A hurt, hurting and abused child, with an incredible potential, someone who had defeated so much stronger opponents and who had resisted mind-control and psychological games.

McCoy studied him and he seemed to see more than Marcone was currently comfortable with. His humorless smile said as much.

"I see he trusted you with his past."

"With enough of it." Enough to make Marcone want to hurt people, to make them pay.

"I know his past, Mr. Marcone. I know the good things, the bad things, the horrible and the terrible things. I know about a hurt and frightened boy who crawled away in pieces, his soul barely intact. I did my best, but I knew he was different. Not just because he defeated a dark wizard or an Outsider, something no child his age had ever done before. Not because he opposed power for no other reason than to show them that not everyone cowed. He was always powerful, but also head-strong, favoring to help the weak and champion for those unable to help themselves. He was a stubborn boy and he grew to be into just such a man."

"Yes, I noticed."

"To learn magic, stubbornness is not required. To handle it, it needs not just talent but concentration, patience and willingness to follow rules."

"Not his strong points."

McCoy smiled briefly. "They never were. Harry is an extraordinarily talented wizard. He simply lost the ability to trust in one's teachers, even his own family. I taught him for ten years, Mr. Marcone. I saw nothing of the darkness others claimed he was toying with. I only saw such potential and raw power, it was surprising he hadn't taken the step everyone was accusing him of."

Marcone raised an eyebrow.

McCoy shrugged. "I am the last of his family. He didn't know that for a while. I didn't tell him. At my age, there are secrets to keep, decisions to make, even if it hurts your kin, or might even be to their harm. I didn't think it would ever come this far, that he could ever reach so deep to handle the power he was gifted through his birth. There was always a last step he was afraid to take, scared to become what others accused him of being: a dark wizard, practicing black magic. For all I could mentor him, I could never reassure him that just because he opened up to the primal vortex, he wouldn't necessarily be swallowed whole. And then he found you."

Marcone didn't show a reaction. McCoy studied him, then grinned.

"Do you trust him, John Marcone? Do you trust him as much as he trusts you, relies on you? Because this is a two-way road."

"I have for years. With my people, my organization, and myself. Especially myself. Now, Mr. McCoy, I'm sure you didn't come this long way just for coffee and family chit-chat."

The wizard chuckled. "No. I came to see how my grandson is doing, considering how rumors run wild within the White Council. The Seniors are as of yet not sure how much truth there is to the rumors."

"Rumors?" He steepled his fingers, exuding an air of calm, businesslike interest. "Concerning…?"

"Harry."

"Of course."

Ebenezar smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Harry has always done things differently. I shouldn't be surprised that he had his shield and a very strong anchor already, before he ever realized it."

"Is there a point to this, Mr. McCoy?"

"Protective. As a shield should be."

Marcone just met the shrewd look, the mask firmly in place, not a muscle twitching. He had sat down with the Queens; he wouldn't reveal himself to a Senior Council member accidentally.

The powerful, old wizard smiled again. "You'll do just fine."

"I'm glad you approve," John answered wryly, lifting a corner of his mouth. "Not that it is any of your concern or a matter you could influence."

"He could have done a lot worse than you."

"Again, I appreciate the congratulations."

McCoy laughed, deeply amused. "I was privy to a lot of rants from the boy. About you. All the time. About your interference, your status of a Freeholding Lord, about your perseverance to recruit him or have him work for you on a freelance basis. It should have been a first clue, but I didn't think Harry had already surpassed his limits and had accessed what he is."

"And now that you do know, what will you do, Councilor McCoy?" Marcone asked coldly, briskly, face a mask and every cell in his body screaming to protect his partner.

"Nothing. I didn't come here to exact any form of justice. Neither you nor him broke any of the Laws."

"I'm hardly in a position to break any of them. I am not a wizard."

"No. You are a Freeholding Lord and the anchor and shield of a powerful wizard in the making. Not many of us have such a partner. I didn't think he would find the emotional trust to forge a connection to a shield." McCoy looked thoughtful for a moment. "I am sure you're quite aware of his past relationships, his attempts to connect emotionally and failing. That he opened up to you of all people tells me more than whatever picture the newspapers paint of you. Or the police."

Marcone gave him a stoic look, refusing to be baited.

"As for my further actions: it is up to you, actually. Stay within the Laws and there will be no hunts."

"This is my Hold, Councilor," Marcone told him, voice flat and still filled with a lick of warning. "My rules. Mr. Dresden is part of this territory and I will not tolerate a hit on him in my territory."

Ebenezar snorted. "You really are as possessive as you are protective. But no matter your status, your power, or his: if Harry goes dark, there will be nowhere he can't be found."

Marcone leaned forward, unafraid to meet the sharp eyes, though he didn't do so directly. He wouldn't give him the pleasure of a soulgaze.

"I make it my business to know people of interest," he said, voice pleasant, almost friendly and conversational. "Getting to know Harry was also to get to know his family. You are a name he mentioned, a person of emotional value to him, Mr. McCoy. You were there for him after a time of abuse that would have broken others, nearly did break him. I am aware of your various positions, of who and especially what you are."

McCoy's face was unreadable, his expression suddenly hard. There was an air of danger around him that should be a warning, but John Marcone wouldn't have come this far if he had cowed at the first whisper of trouble. He knew the man was insanely dangerous, centuries old, and he could easily take out one simple mundane without fearing punishment. He was a cold-blooded killer and had been for centuries, sanctioned and approved by the White Council. The very White Council that had put the Doom of Damocles on Harry Dresden. The same White Council who had wanted to find a permanent solution to the roguish, troublesome and very powerful wizard in the making who was now John's partner. His wizard.

Marcone could be just as cold-blooded, especially when it came to the man he was meant to protect.

"You are the White Council's hitman," he stated directly, refusing to be intimidated. "The only one to be able to break all the seven Laws, to kill innocents without fear of repercussions, and you have done so in the past. You can go black and not fear repercussions. You are sanctioned to kill thousands, to use whatever you deem necessary and never face justice."

White brows rose. "You did your research. You have good sources."

"The best."

Donar Vadderung was one of the best-informed people out there. The man – god – didn't really owe him any favors, or debts, but John Marcone had been the first and only mortal to convince the CEO of Monoc Securities to branch out of his headquarters in Oslo to the US, setting up in Chicago and giving him a Valkyrie as a security consultant. He had also been one of the three signatories Marcone had needed to become a Freeholding Lord and signatory of the Unseelie Accords.

"Then you know not to mess with me, Mr. Marcone."

The smile was cold, shark-like, showing the predator behind the mask. McCoy wasn't the first powerful individual to threaten him, nor would he be the last. And Marcone had faced down a lot of monsters who showed their true faces as they taunted him, underestimated him because he was just a human mortal. Mundane. No powers to rival their own.

"I don't take threats against my person lightly, Mr. McCoy. I am very much aware that you can end my life with a flick of a finger. I also know that you would do it if you saw me as a threat to Harry, even if it would hurt him deeply. You would kill a shield to break a possibly dangerous magic-user, even if that person is you own grandson. Yes, I know who and what you are, but I also know that you are not a cold-blooded killer. You don't decide on a whim. You follow orders." He raised his eyebrows, holding the keen, sharp eyes that were studying him like an interesting subject under a microscope. "You have Harry's interest at heart, protecting him as you have before, even if the Council ordered you to kill him should he break the Laws again. To you I'm nothing; bothersome maybe, but not a threat. But I am also Harry Dresden's anchor and shield. I am a Freeholding Lord, the Baron of Chicago, a signatory of the Unseelie Accords. The White Council wouldn't simply frown upon such unsanctioned actions, because believe me, there would be more than a ripple."

McCoy was silent for a long moment, then his lips split into a wide grin and he laughed deeply. "I like you, Marcone. Very much. And I can see why he likes you. I could tell when he complained and ranted about you when we talked, but to finally meet the man in person, yes, you have guts. Lots of it. Like Harry. You don't cower before those more powerful than you and you don't roll over and play submissive either. You are his perfect counter-weight. Cold, ruthless, a hunter and never prey. You are so much like him and yet so much more in control. You are his balance and he is yours. Be aware of that importance."

Marcone met the older wizard's eyes without flinching, just shy of a soulgaze. He refused to be baited into one.

"How much of your knowledge will make it to the Council?" he asked, letting the warning bleed into the words again.

McCoy smirked. "This is a family matter for me. My presence here was to meet the man who is Harry's shield and anchor. Welcome to the family."

John raised his eyebrows.

"I may be part of the Senior Council, but this is a matter that has to run its own course, without interference. The Council is aware of something happening. The two of you won't remain hidden forever. You are too strong, growing into your abilities so much faster. You will attract attention one day; of a different sort."

John smiled blandly, refusing to let anything show. McCoy looked amused.

"Will you drop in on Harry or should I relay your best wishes?" Marcone asked conversationally, but there was an edge to his voice.

He didn't trust the powerful wizard even one iota. His appearance here, without informing Harry of his arrival or even asking for an appointment with the Baron of Chicago had left a bad taste. A very bad taste. It was common courtesy to announce one's presence, unless it was to attack or to spy.

"I think I'll leave that to another time."

Just as he had thought. It didn't help endear the man to him any more than he already had. Harry had next to no family left and this was his maternal grandfather. The man who had also mentored him. Also the man who had kept a lot of important and pertinent information from his grandson. And a man who seemed ready to kill his own flesh and blood, a teenager to boot, should he deem him on the road to the darker magics.

Something inside John snarled softly at the thought of first the abuse, then the threat of death by beheading, all resting on a young Harry's shoulders. Fury flashed through him, hot and unrestrained, like a living thing with a mind of its own.

"I believe Harry would enjoy seeing his family," he said smoothly, none of his thoughts translating into the words.

McCoy rose fluidly from the chair, belying his centuries, and inclined his head. "Baron Marcone, it was a pleasure meeting you."

John gave him a shark-like smile. "I wish I could say the same, Councilor."

That got him a chuckle. "We will hear of each other again. I'm sure I will hear about the two of you." With that he walked out the door, past Hendricks, who shot Marcone a quizzical look.

Marcone answered it with a look of his own.

"Will you tell Dresden?" Hendricks asked softly.

"Yes."

"He won't like it."

"Neither do I."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned to a) post sooner and b) more, but yesterday afternoon, just after some scaffolding had been placed, the water main apparently ruptured, with water leaking into the basement and lots of chaos. And where do you think they need to dig up the ground? Yep, underneath the scaffolding, which hasn't been taken down yet by the company and now I'm sitting here with buckets of water and no running water. My morning wasn't fun at all!  
> At least I have power to run my electronics, so I can write between frequent phone calls and cursing at various companies.

Saying that Harry didn't like it was an understatement. He stared at Marcone, eyes wide, face decidedly gray around the edges, and Marcone carefully shifted his weight just in case.

"Ebe knows? He was here… came to you and… said he knows?"

"Apparently," he answered. "I take it you didn't get a call from Mr. McCoy?"

"No." The word was breathed out.

"It seems he was more interested in me then. A kind of risk assessment."

"Risk assessment?!" Harry blurted. "Hell's Bells! He came right to you and…"

"And had a look at the man who turned out to be his grandson's shield. He was always very much aware of your potential, Harry. It confirms that more than one Senior Council member knows what you could really be, not just Mr. Langtry. Right now there are simply rumors about my person in connection to you, Harry."

Dresden still looked kind of shocked.

"We knew I would happen. Your… episode was hidden from them, but you have grown since then, have become more assured. There is also the not so small matter of my person, my position, and the changes within my city."

Marcone knew he sounded almost arrogantly proud, but that's what he felt: pride. Possessive, claiming pride. He didn't want to turn Chicago into a hot spot. He wanted to keep it neutral, out of battles, out of dispute fights, senseless quarrels and territory battles. He didn't want to rise in his position or claim more than he already had. He knew he could if he wanted to; they could. If Harry put his mind to it, if he ceaselessly worked on accessing the raw powers at his command, he would be unstoppable.

But that wasn't what either of them wanted. Marcone knew what happened to those who took on more than they could control. He had seen it in the past, had witnessed great dons fall because they had lost control of a vast empire they were no longer the master of. There was always the matter of greed, of wanting more and more, like hoarding cities and collecting allies, but one day one of those allies might just try to uproot the leader. Someone might start something in a remote corner, like a tiny rebellion, a coup, and suddenly there was a war for the best pieces of a former empire.

No, John knew how to move on the political dance floor, to gather enough power to make an impact, but not too much to make himself vulnerable. As for Harry, he had no dreams of grandeur, of being more than he already was. He loved what he did, his PI work, helping people and keeping the bad under control. He was like a guardian, the protector of Chicago. Not a warden, not under anyone's command, and Marcone still bristled when he thought about the White Council's command over this man because he was still considered a warden.

"So Ebe came calling to… assess you," Harry muttered.

"Yes. I'd like to think we parted amiably," Marcone said diplomatically.

Harry snorted.

John raised his eyebrows. "I believe he knows my position regarding your safety and your well-being. That I do not appreciate wardens coming after one of their own. That I absolutely do not welcome any of the Council's… assets to take a closer look at you without my consent or an invitation issued by myself."

Dresden gaped at him. "You threatened Ebenezar McCoy?" he wheezed.

"No. We had a very civil conversation. He understands my position completely, as well as recognizes the power I have behind me as a Freeholding Lord in turn. He did call me your perfect counter-weight, Harry. I want to believe it is a form of acceptance and personal understanding."

"You… Stars and Stones, John! Do you know how powerful he is?"

Marcone smiled coldly. "Yes. I know exactly who and what he is. Actually, I have almost a full life's history of the man."

"You… Wait, what? H-how…?"

The smile was still there, the whole posture changing to that of the Baron of Chicago. "Information is a part and parcel of the business I run, Harry. It is the heart, the soul and the very coin we trade in when it comes to the Nevernever and assorted other organizations. The White Council among them. Being part of the Unseelie Accords means I want to know everything there is about opponents, allies, neutrals, and important keystones. As the only mundane mortal signatory, the information is even more important. So yes, I know who the Senior Council members are, what they are, their histories, and who they send out to do their dirty work. Faerie is quite aware what Mr. McCoy is capable of, what he is allowed to do, so in an even exchange I received that knowledge."

"You dealt in information with one of the Courts," Dresden stated in a rough whisper.

"Yes."

"In exchange for what?"

"A minor inconvenience at best. It didn't pertain to any debts, pledges, oaths or anything to do with gifting a soul."

Harry sat down abruptly and buried his head in his hands, fingers clenching against his scalp. He groaned softly.

"I also employed the talents of Monoc Securities," John went on, sounding completely at ease, almost languid, "which unearthed a few more interesting things that even Faerie is unaware of. There is nothing Donar Vadderung doesn't know or can find out as well. To not use his talents and resources would be wasteful."

"The even exchange," Harry managed roughly. "You gave his additional information to one of the Courts?"

He inclined his head with a smirk.

Another groan. "I didn’t know about him for a long time," Harry finally said, voice wavering. "The man who reiterated the seven Laws over and over, who told me how important they are, that to break them would mean death… I had broken the first Law, John. It nearly got me sentenced to death!"

"I am very well aware of that particular snippet."

There was a dark fire in Marcone's eyes, an anger that was close to fury in his voice that simmered underneath the even delivery. He tried to keep the emotions out of the words, but he was failing. He would never be able to understand the actions of the White Council and it was one of the many points of contempt for him. He understood rules and laws, he ran a tight ship himself, but someone who sentenced children to death through beheading deserved a special place in Hell, in his opinion.

Harry met his eyes, read probably everything he felt in there, his own reflecting his personal hell. "They lifted the death sentence, put me on probation. He kept preaching it all at me… and then I found out that he is the only one allowed to break them all and he has done so repeatedly. Repeatedly!"

"Yes."

"And you know it all."

"Exchange of information, Harry," John repeated mildly. "My daily business."

Dark eyes met green ones. There was a vulnerability there, mixed with anger, with old pain, and with something of a glimmer that reflected the powerful soul deep within. Harry Dresden had come out of all his confrontations stronger than before; he had never bowed to power and he had never broken.

"You know he could snuff you out, let you disappear, and no one would ever bat an eye."

"Very much. He wouldn't dare, though," Marcone told him firmly, more of the ruthless, cold power in his voice now, in his stance, one he showed when dealing with members of the Accords when necessary. "I won't make the mistake to think I'm invulnerable, no. But I know even the White Council doesn't want you on the other side, giving in to the force that would tear them to pieces over my death. They pushed you, pulled at you, did things I wouldn't have tolerated if I had known at the time. You were a child, Harry. You were an innocent. Your own family was tasked to take you out if they deemed it necessary. I cannot forgive that, but I can forget about it when dealing with Mr. McCoy."

Harry swallowed. Marcone met the open gaze, not wavering. The anger was back. It curled in his stomach and he took control of it, refused to let it rule his thinking.

"Mr. McCoy mentioned he is your only family."

Dresden nodded.

"He doesn't know about your brother." Not even a question.

"Thomas?"

"Is there another brother you haven't mentioned?"

Harry grimaced. "No, he doesn't know about Thomas. I'm not sure what he would do, knowing he has a grandson who's also a White Court vampire and a Raith."

"Understandable. He doesn't have an anchor," John stated. "Am I correct?"

Harry blinked, looking a bit startled by the sudden switch. "Ebe? No, he doesn't."

"According to Bob, only the Merlin seems to have need of a shield and anchor, though he said not to ask. It is… apparently very strange."

It got him a shrug. "Never saw anyone with him. I mean, the Merlin and I don't really get along most of the time."

"Figure that."

He grimaced. "I know he'd rather see me dead than existing anywhere on any plane, but we have kind of a truce right now. And Langtry is the most powerful wizard alive. I know he wields elemental magic like it's just an easy snap of his fingers. I've seen him do some pretty wild stuff and he wasn't even out of breath."

John nodded. "In time, you will grow into that power at your disposal."

"I'm not vying to become Merlin!" Harry snapped.

"I didn't say so," he replied mildly. "I'd rather you wouldn't anyway."

"Ditto."

Marcone smiled and pulled the seated man to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist to guide him into a quick, close-mouthed kiss.

"Your work is exclusive, Mr. Dresden. To me. For me. With me."

Dresden's eyes narrowed. "I don't work for you."

"Caught that, hm?" John smiled wickedly.

It got him a glare. "With you. Always with you, John."

"That we can agree on. And please don't go storming off to Missouri."

"You think I'm going to yell at my grandfather over his visit to you."

"Frankly, yes."

Harry huffed a little, but he didn't step out of the embrace. "Maybe. I think it's time we sit down and really talk. I mean, after I found out what he is, the whole Blackstaff thing, we didn't. Well, talk. For a long time."

"Understandable."

"I'll think about it."

"You do that."

Nothing more was said about the matter, but Marcone knew Harry was chewing on what had happened.

*

Maybe because he was a stubborn bastard, Harry studied his mother's pendant, even though he didn't plan to go into the Nevernever and test it. The long stick had become shorter, mainly because he had become curious. His mother had handed that necklace to the Leanansidhe for a reason; for him to have one day. She had decided that now was the time. Now that Harry had broken the boundaries of his perceived limits.

"You sure, boss?" Bob asked carefully. "This thing is valuable, sure. You could go around the world within a few hours, not eighty days. But you would be in the Nevernever."

"I know."

"Not sure that's a good idea."

"I know, Bob."

"Knowing how to access that map would give you an advantage, though."

Harry turned the ruby between his fingers, aware that this was a key to a system of pathways no one else had. He didn't have his mother's ability to predict Waypoints, but if she had saved all of that in here, all she knew… and even if the Ways shifted every few decades, it would give him a massive advantage.

He would need to know how to access the ruby.

He would have to know how to use the knowledge.

"Dresden…" Bob warned.

"It's both a weapon and a defense, Bob. Right now I have no idea how to even access it."

The skull's eye-sockets flared. "You are going to try it," he stated, not even making it a question.

"With your help."

Another flare.

"Bob…"

"It could be trap, Harry."

"Lea wouldn't risk Mab's anger."

"What if it isn't Lea?"

Harry sighed. "This isn't a conspiracy. I want to test it. How to access it."

"And I'm helping, joyjoyjoy," came the resigned mutter. "Oh well, before you blow yourself up or accidentally end up in the Nevernever… and you would… let's do this."


	22. Chapter 22

The first few attempts were basic spellwork, trying to detect wards or protective measures. Since he found nothing, Harry proceeded to unlocking spells. There was nothing but a mild fizzle or sizzle, telling him he had struck out on all of them. Well, it would have been way too easy and absolutely not what he would have expected of his mother if a basic spell had undone the map.

So he tried combining spells.

No luck either.

Harry called it a day when he was too tired to concentrate anymore.

Bob suggested more complex breaching methods when he resumed his spell-cracking attempts.

"It might be a bit more complicated. And it's more dangerous than basic stuff," the spirit warned him. "But you have the necessary whammy power."

"The 'basic stuff' hasn't so much as made this thing shiver," Harry argued. "And 'whammy power'?"

"You always packed a lot of punch, for a wizard your baby scruff age. You wiped the floor with a lot of more experienced or hardier types before you connected with Marcone. It only got a lot more intense in the last years. And now that you acknowledged him? You are heading toward limitless, boss. Oh well. It's your head."

Dresden scowled at him, Bob's bright orange eyes flaring briefly.

It was how they started the more difficult spells, which required all of his concentration and skill, some of them almost way past what he was comfortable with.

Working complicated magic usually required either a lot of this kind of concentration that Harry had never mastered, or one needed the help of other practitioners to share the load and just handle one portion of a spell. Since he wasn't planning on relocating the whole of Chicago to another plane of existence, or banish something truly tremendously powerful, let alone call it, Harry was convinced he could do this.

He had been practicing. He had fine-tuned his skills a lot. And he was under no duress, no time pressure, nothing. He had all the time in the world to get this right.

He drew up a protective circle around his lab area, just to be on the very safe side. Bob supervised the runes he inscribed into a powerful circle.

"Bit much, but might be necessary," he commented. "Seeing how you're the wrecking ball kinda wizard."

Harry grimaced, but hey, better safe than sorry.

The first few rounds had no success, but Bob's near-endless knowledge continued to give him a list of what might work. Some of it required Harry to prepare himself, too, which was only the first of many red flags he ignored for the sake of success, but he was determined.

And actually obsessed by now.

He should have stopped there.

Because after something that had taken almost two hours to weave into the spell he needed, it ended with Harry on the ground, the mother of all headaches raging through his mind, and he whimpered pitifully.

The pain was terrible. He felt like he had to throw up. Everything was one big bruise.

The migraine seared through his brain, cut through his thoughts, and it overwhelmed his senses.

"Uhm, boss?" Bob asked tentatively.

Harry managed a croak, then just remained on the ground, riding out the worst of it.

It took him almost the whole day to make it out of his lab and fall into his bed, exhausted and still aching.

Thankfully Marcone was still too busy with some kind of complicated business thing or two, which meant late hours or even whole nights sitting with various politicians or high-ranking members of Chicago society, and no time for anything resembling a private life. It was like a game of chess, dragging on for hours, each participant trying to outwit the other, and whoever faltered would fall prey.

Marcone had never faltered before. The man was like a shark following miniscule drops of blood in a freaking ocean to get what he was hunting for.

It was about the only reason why Harry got away with holing up in his lab for days on end, surfacing only to scavenge food when his stomach violently reminded him of its needs.

The second attempt to break through what had to be the most complex and yet undetectable protection he had ever witnessed with highly complex spells was met by moderate success. Well, it was a success that he didn't end up with a migraine on the floor.

It still hurt. Especially between his eyes, but at least he could still catch a clear thought. Sure, the world faded out around him once or twice, but hey. He had had worse.

He couldn't access the contents of the ruby, though.

Bob devised new methods to find the key and the keyhole.

"It can't be that hard," the spirit muttered. "She secured it, but it shouldn't be impossible. She gifted it to you. You must be the key."

Harry massaged his temples, willing the aches away. "We tried just about everything, Bob. I only get slapped around by the insane amount of warding."

Bob hummed. "It protects itself. But she wanted you to have it."

Harry sighed. He looked at the ruby again; he wouldn't give up.

He gave up temporarily when a new attempt had him black out after a blazing agony had raked over his mind, the world around him narrowing down to just a pinprick of reality, and then winking out of existence.

Waking up was like dragging himself out of the deepest pits and he so shaky, he was unable to get off the floor for what felt like hours. His ears were ringing, his vision fogged or tilted, and Bob made no sense. He heard his voice, but not the words.

His mind was on fire, each breath hurting, each heartbeat a million times louder than before. His very brain seemed to throb with the pulse.

This had been a truly bad idea. Really, abysmally bad.

Time to find another approach, he swore to himself.

Harry Dresden finally gave up when after a day of preparations, of even swallowing some vile potion that would enable him to use his Sight on the ruby to see if there was a combination lock hidden within the inanimate object, ended with a minor explosion that actually shook the building.

It also shook him.

The shield he had instinctively pulled up around the ruby and within the fraction of a second saved him from being crushed by what had to be some kind of gravitational force that tossed the lab and nearly punched him through the wall with one blow. The protective barrier held and he really didn't want to think about what would have happened to the house, the block, maybe even the whole neighborhood, if not for the protection.

Panting, the ruby encased in a brightly glowing bubble, he sat on the ground, ears ringing, a steady pounding hammering through his head. The room was coming in and out of focus, and he was starting to feel nauseated.

Oh, wait. That pounding… Someone was hammering against the door for real. It wasn't just in his head. He staggered haphazardly to his feet.

"What the fuck, Dresden?!" Hendricks exclaimed when Harry managed to wrench the door open.

The red-head looked wildly around the lab, then his eyes tracked over the disheveled man who was watching him with a slightly concussed expression. Hendricks had his gun in one hand, all of him radiating readiness to confront whatever could have breached the subbasement because a certain wizard might have accidentally opened a portal.

"Uhm, hey, I… nothing happened?" Harry tried, still feeling off-kilter.

"The house shook! I wouldn't call that nothing, even in Dresden-speak!"

"I kinda miscalculated."

Hendricks stared at him and if looks could kill, Harry would have already died three times over. He knew this would get back to John. It would most definitely get back to him.

"I contained the blast," he continued.

"I knew the lab was a bad idea," the bodyguard growled. "You have a penchant for blowing things up or setting them on fire."

"Nothing happened!"

The glare silenced Harry and he found it quite a good glare, considering.

"Did something happen?" he inquired because, hey, the house was still standing and he didn't have to put out any fires. Big plus, really.

Hendricks growled again. "Know any fancy spells to repair what spilled out of the cupboards? Flic of the wand and reparo?"

"That's a different kinda wizard and Harry," he muttered. "And no."

"Too bad."

"You're a Potterhead?" Harry asked with a mischievous glint. "Doing research? Didn't take you for the young adult kind of reader."

Yes, if looks could kill…

Hendricks turned on his heels and stalked off.

Harry stayed where he was, feeling exhausted and achy. He finally glanced at his lab and groaned. It was a mess.

And among the mess sat a thankfully unharmed skull with glowing, orange eyes, watching him avidly.

"Don't," Dresden said tiredly and grabbed a broom.

"Zipped up, boss. But you might want to head over to IKEA."

He glared, which resulted in Bob sniggering more.

"Look on the bright side!" he chortled. "You didn't blast yourself into the Nevernever! That would have been really embarrassing! Not that Johnny wouldn't have come riding to the rescue and dragged you back. Probably on some freaking white horse, too."

Harry tossed a book at him.

Bob howled with laughter, nearly toppling over.

*

"You are working on the map," John remarked three days later.

While Harry had expected to be confronted by Marcone the very evening he had shaken the foundation of the building – it still stood and had no lasting damage, though the kitchen needed a lot of new dishware now – Marcone had been suspiciously absent. As had been Hendricks. Gard had informed him that something had come up, and since she hadn't elaborated, Harry knew this 'something' was nothing he really wanted to know about. Unless it opened portals and dragged forth unspeakable dangers.

He also hadn't tried anything new since then. There was a limit to what Harry was willing to do, especially since he really didn't want to bring down the house, and he had reached that limit. Further experiments would have to be moved to a safer location.

Harry blinked. "Uhm?"

It got him that patient, knowing look. "Didn't you deem it too dangerous?"

"Yes?"

"But you are trying to access it."

"Well, kinda?"

John looked like he wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose, but he simply sighed. "How bad were the attempts?"

Harry shrugged. "Nothing blew up for real?"

"I have it on good authority that there was a minor earthquake registered in the area. A few car alarms went off and we need new plates, cups and glasses. Among other things."

"Uh… put it on my bill?"

"What about yourself?"

Surprise shot through him and he looked into the pale green eyes, seeing nothing but barely veiled worry and a lot of exasperation.

"I'm good. Really. A headache, nothing more."

A blinding, mind-numbing headache every single time. His brain had felt like puree for almost the whole day and Harry hadn't left the lab, just curled up and hoped not to die.

Marcone studied him and Harry knew he was probably reading between the lines. He was very adept it; a pro.

"But no success?" John asked neutrally.

He sighed, shaking his head. "Nope. It's like a code no one has a key to. And I tried some pretty heavy decoding stuff. It either doesn't react at all or repels what I throw at it."

A wry smile graced Marcone's lips. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I didn't blow up the building! Or set it on fire! And if I had known how strongly it reacts, I would have chosen a different location! I will take further attempts somewhere else, John."

"While I laude your safety-mindedness," and yes, the sarcasm was clear to hear, "I wish you wouldn't endanger yourself like that."

He was very close to just sticking out his tongue, but he was too professional to give in to the childish notion. There was a teasing light in John's eyes and he knew he was perfectly well reading him.

"I'll be better prepared the next time!"

It got him a sigh. "There will be a next time," Marcone muttered. "Of course." He rubbed his fingertips over his forehead, as if trying to ease the lines. "Does there have to be a key?"

Marcone gave him that mildly inquisitive expression that told Dresden he had the man's full attention by now, that his brain was going through options and possibilities. While he had no grasp on magic like a practitioner, John Marcone approached any problem like he did mundane ones.

"Well, I hope… because if my mother left this for me, why give me something I can't use?"

Marcone appeared thoughtful. "Your magic doesn't trigger it?"

"Well, it triggers something, but that's a migraine of epic proportions," he said moodily.

"You might need something else to activate the map, something you don't have just yet."

Harry leaned back, trying to hold back his frustration. He had tried so much already. Spells, potions, various triggers in form of different gem stones, powders and liquids. He had placed it into a specially created circle, had drawn runes and tried sigils. Nothing had so much as given him even a scrap. Just the headache. If it was keyed to him, it didn't show it in the slightest. It was just a ruby on a golden chain.

"How can I be expected to find it if I don't know what it is?"

"Family heirlooms?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. When I was placed with the state I had nothing. My magic hadn't manifested yet either, so no magical objects."

Marcone pursed his lips. "How sure can you be that this is your mother's pendant?"

"Lea wouldn't give me a fake!"

John hummed. "But maybe your mother handed a duplicate to her."

He shook his head. "I can feel it's magical. Something is in there, but it's always moving away from where I try to apply a key."

"You won't give up." It was a fact. He didn't even ask.

Harry met the pale green eyes and shrugged. "Would you?"

Marcone smiled. "No." He looked thoughtful. "Working with the premise that the ruby is the real stone and that the necklace is your mothers, why did the Leanansidhe give it to you now?"

Harry shrugged.

"So, what changed, Harry?"

The question threw him. He blinked, then managed, "Uhm…"

"Why now and not years ago? She made quite an entry to prove a point. She tested me, then us. So what changed to say, three years ago? Or five? Or longer?"

Harry was silent for a long time, then his eyes narrowed briefly and he finally looked at Marcone. "You. I've got you now!"

John smirked. "You had me over five years ago, too."

Harry scowled. "You bullied yourself into my investigation and tried to strong-arm me into cooperating with the mafia. I didn't have you! I was actually trying not to have much to do with you!"

"We met, Harry. We met and we shared the soulgaze. That was the moment you had me and I had you. If you hadn't been so obstinate, we might have started and finished what took you five long years to accept."

He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. "Well, we didn't," he muttered despondently. "But we always ran into each other! You stalked me in a very creepy way and you were always, always right there."

"More or less. Mostly you tried not to ask for my help, then grudgingly accepted it anyway. You kept insulting me, my men, my organization, refused further aid, then came back for more." Marcone leaned back, looking smug. "And you kept refusing everything I offered."

Harry stared at him.

The calm green eyes reflected amusement and the man’s mouth quirked in a brief smile; so brief, it might have been wishful thinking.

"Until you didn't and accepted me, Harry. That changed, only that. You consciously accepted me as your counter-weight and counter-balance. You acknowledged what I am for you and to you. You and I finally happened."

Dresden's eyes were wide as saucers and he was truly having trouble comprehending what John was saying, what he was laying out for him in detail. He finally shot to his feet and started pacing restlessly around the room, hands raking through his already tousled hair. Marcone let him, aware that the nervous energy had to go somewhere.

"N-no! No way! She… she couldn't… my mother couldn't have known! How… should she… My magic hadn't manifested when she died… and even if she had bet on genetics and all… She couldn't have known about the depth of my abilities! Or that I would one day need and find my shield… John, that's insane!"

Marcone watched the frantic pacing calmly. "But possible."

He shook his head and stopped abruptly. "Insane!" Harry repeated. "Absolutely insane! You are the key?"

"Possibly."

"But…"

John rose fluidly, gracefully. "Is it worth a try?"

Harry swallowed. "I… don't know. It might be dangerous."

"More dangerous than throwing spells at it on your own and hoping for the best?" Marcone asked with a mild frown. "Or blowing up the house?"

"Well…"

"Where is it, Harry?"

"Still locked up. You really want to do this?"

"Yes."

"You are certifiable!" he exclaimed.

John's smile was almost terribly shark-like. "Lead the way, Mr. Dresden."


	23. Chapter 23

They had moved the whole experiment somewhere else. Somewhere completely else, away from any populated areas, driving as far as the Indiana Dunes State Park. Hendricks had been far from happy, though getting an emotional reaction from him was difficult on the best of days, but even Harry had no problem reading the man right now.

He was somewhere between pissed off, tense and highly suspicious for the whole hour it had taken them to drive here.

Marcone had simply given his oldest friend a calm look, eyebrows twitching minutely, and in Hendricks-speak that seemed to mean that things were fine, this was a good plan, and Marcone was completely invested in this enterprise.

There was absolutely no one around. It was still too cold this time of the year for too many tourists to be drawn out here. Harry had chosen a good spot that insured privacy.

Marcone studied the ruby. It wasn't very big, shaped like a tear-drop, held in a delicate, golden prong. It looked innocent. Just a piece of nice to look at jewelry. The golden chain was simple, with a single claps, and just long enough that it would place the ruby above a woman's cleavage.

Bob had come along and now sat on a large boulder just to Harry's left, watching them avidly with brightly glowing eyes. Dresden had explained Marcone's theory throughout the drive, drawing forth a few thoughtful hums.

"Good theory, really," the skull said, mulling it over. "But it's not like wizards are known for predicting the future in miniscule detail. There might be some extraordinarily wacky and batty ones who could have too much of that one thing, but even if you have it in spades, no one can see everything, boss. But," and he paused melodramatically for a moment, "she might have done such a complicated spell that it's really easy to crack it, if you know how your mom ticked."

"Come again?"

"She left it to her then very much mundane son. Not Thomas. He might be half human, but the vampire side overwhelmed that part. You weren't a practitioner at the time, but you had the theoretical potential to be one, considering your family tree. She left it to you, hoping you might one day be able to grow into your heritage, maybe strongly enough to stomach what this knowledge means, what you can do."

Harry frowned.

John's expression was unreadable, but his eyes were burning with the intensity of his thoughts. Finally a slow smile crept over his lips.

"Johnny here gets it," Bob announced.

Harry gave him a dark look. "Translation: no other magic than the raw, primal elemental one can trigger the lock," he said despondently, as if trying to show a hard-ass teacher that yes, the supposed village idiot understood, too. "And to keep anyone who can use that magic from accessing the map, my mother also spelled it to me, her youngest son."

"Bingo!"

"That sounds… rather simplistic," John remarked. "In a complicated way that involves genetic coding."

"Good magic always is simple in the end," the skull explained magnanimously. "The whole complicated hand-weaving and chanting… that's part showmanship. The really powerful wizards can do it with a flick of a wrist, the snap of fingers, or just with a whisper of a breath. To code the lock to one person takes a lot of knowledge to do. That's not easy and might even be outside her abilities."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Your mother was so good at travelling around the Nevernever and keeping faerie company, she was called LeFay, Harry. She had delicate spell-work mastered and she knew things no one else ever has or has since. While it's a simple enough spell, it has the deviousness of a Fae to it, too."

"Good point," Marcone agreed.

"I only have good points." The skull rocked back and forth.

"You think she used faerie magic?"

It got him a scoff. "Humans can't do faerie magic."

"Bob…"

"She had friends. Well, Fae you might consider benevolently friendly, in comparison to how they normally act."

"So one of her friends helped?"

"Could be. I mean, this kinda feels like faerie work. We tried all kinds of unlocking spells, right? We used your magic in a million constellations, but never just… raw magic. Pure, primal magic flowing into the ruby, one that you control, that is channeled by you, boss."

Harry heaved a sigh. "So… how do we trigger the key? Preferably without a major catastrophe."

"Preferably," Marcone echoed dryly.

"Well, if she keyed it to raw magic, reach for that. Carefully. It might take a while since just blasting it briefly shouldn't do the trick. It's upholding the connection that shows you are anchored. If we're right, the moment the anchor and shield take hold, the lock will break. Wouldn't even require Johnny-boy to be here, actually, but hey! The more the merrier!"

Harry met the green eyes, read the tension in there, the wariness and also the determination.

He started with a protective circle, making sure it was perfect, taking his time to check twice. It would be only him and Marcone inside, though he would have preferred to leave his shield outside. John's expression had told him quite clearly that, no, it wasn't an option and it was non-negotiable.

Hendricks looked rather unhappy about the whole situation, about a magical barrier between him and his boss, but he didn't argue. At least not verbally. There was a lot of eye-narrowing, frowning and the occasional glare involved.

"Well," Dresden murmured as he took the ruby from John. "Let's do this."

Gently, with a delicacy he hadn't been capable of just a year ago, he reached for that endless well, the abyss. It was smooth and deceptively calm. Underneath its surface were the raging elemental powers that other wizards could use, too, but never so raw and unrefined. It would rip most users apart to just draw on a little of this without a focus and completely annihilate whoever just dove in and grabbed for it.

He opened his right hand, palm up with the ruby resting on it, and concentrated. Blue light followed his summoning, beautiful but deadly. His body began to thrum.

Within the endless well sat the anchor, permanent, a true fact that couldn't be removed by any kind of magic, and it was his island in a stormy sea that would otherwise mercilessly swallow him whole.

He reached for the vortex, unafraid, accomplished in a way that would normally take decades and shouldn't be possible for a wizard his age. Harry drew it in, infused tiny trickles of the primal power into the ruby with skill and artistry.

He felt the anchor take hold, powerful, in control, keeping him tethered, and the shield stretched around his soul. Confidently, he let more raw magic flow. It was fierce fire, sub-zero ice, a raging storm and trembling ground. It was all so very primal and unrefined, but not malicious, aggressive or destructive. It didn't hurt him, didn't tear his mind apart or shredded his soul. It was following his commands like a well-trained puppy. A puppy with sharp teeth, burning eyes and an unrivalled force.

Suddenly there was a whispery trail of magic detaching itself, four distinctly colored lines weaving into one stronger one, twirling around the two men. It was dizzying and beautiful and awe-inspiring to watch.

And it reached for John like it had done so many times before, when they were intimately close, when they were emotionally laid bare before the other.

He heard a sharp exhalation of air.

Harry looked at his shield, the green eyes almost ethereal, and the magic caressed the sharply cut face, the lean lines hidden underneath the perfectly cut suit. He was very much aware of the other man, of the strength, the cool control, the confidence; John. His magic thrummed with approval, telling him that this was what it was supposed to be.

There was a shiver going through him as the connection tightened, but Marcone held his eyes, showing nothing but complete assurance and trust. Harry had never felt anything like this before in all his life; well, he had never been connected to anyone like his shield before in all his life. Deadly but beautiful. Lethal but oh-so desirable. He loved to feel that strength, that steel core, was addicted in the best possible way. His tether in a stormy sea that threatened to batter him against rocks and then drown him.

There was something like a ping from the ruby.

Energy coalesced and he released it.

His pentacle amulet around his neck started to glow and the protective runes responded in kind, the circle lighting up as the shield flared to life. It enveloped Marcone and him, keeping all the energy contained.

Then his Sight triggered.

Harry's eyes widened as he suddenly saw the map unfold before his eyes. It was the Nevernever, larger than anything Harry had ever seen, unfurling around him, around John, the area… three-dimensional, folded within itself, and he could see countless Waypoints. Some he recognized, so many more, a lot more, unknown to him.

Due to the Sight, the map was now a lasting memory that would never fade or be forgotten. He stared at it, amazed and shocked in one, feeling small tremors work through his body. The magic twirled around them and he faintly heard Bob's voice, but he didn't understand the words.

His mother's map…

A hand curled around his own, the one holding the ruby, and he blinked, meeting the green eyes he had shared a soulgaze with so many years ago.

Power sparked almost visibly between them. The protection was bright and strong around them and Harry could feel the strength of the magic, how it wafted back and forth, how it clung possessively to Marcone.

John was absolutely open to him, no walls, no masks, no facades. He saw nothing but who the man really was, felt the thrum between them, the power, the pull they had toward each other.

"It's there," he whispered. "So simple… it was so simple…"

"And yet no one else but you could ever access it," John said, equally soft.

Because it needed his magic, but not simply the one he had learned to handle. It was the elementary one, the primal power, the one he could control because of the anchor and shield.

Not all Waypoints would still be exactly in that position as they changed through time, but this was so much more than he had ever thought possible, than anyone else possessed.

And it was his mother's gift to him.

The raw magic disappeared slowly, still caressing them, the fire the last to go. John was still clasping his hand, was still openly meeting his eyes.

"I ask only one thing, Harry Dresden: don't go off exploring your mother's legacy just yet."

Harry swallowed. "I wouldn't willy-nilly enter the Nevernever, John…"

"She did, apparently. I never met your mother, but if she was as adventurous and reckless as you…"

He gave him an affronted look, but Bob's laughter had him bite back on a reply. "Shut up," he told the skull.

"Genetics are a bitch, boss!"

"I said shut it!"

John tilted his head and smiled, warm and amused. "I want your promise."

"You have it. I promise. This is a tool, John. It can help me in battles, in travelling, but no one just walks around the Nevernever like it's some kind of demented Disneyland. You don't go sight-seeing in there."

"The Leanansidhe warned you that it is power and it can affect your mind."

"Travelling through the Nevernever can. A lot. The more you do it, the stronger the influence of Faerie can be." Harry dropped his head to rest it against Marcone's, drawing him closer. "She not only knew where the continually changing Ways were, but where they would be in the future. That's an amazing ability all on its own. My mother was special in how she walked among the Fae and the Nevernever. I know I haven't been that lucky and got into some trouble now and then."

Bob snorted, but he kept his mouth shut.

They silently stood together, the last remnants of the magic dissipating. Marcone shivered briefly, eyes sliding shut, lips opening. Harry leaned in and brushed their lips together. After a while Marcone released his hand and Harry placed the ruby back into the warded box.

It would stay there. He wouldn't take it back out again unless it was needed. The map was now in his head. For him to use if necessary. No one else had that knowledge; no one else would be able to just pass through the Nevernever using Ways only his mother had ever found and known.

The protective circle collapsed.

He had about a fraction of a second of a warning, then Winter swept over them in a display of deadly beauty and deceptive grace. This time the landscape didn't frost over, but the chill was the same and the power was clear to feel.

"Leanansidhe," Harry whispered, automatically stepping in front of Marcone, eyes tracking to where Hendricks had reached for his gun. He spread the fingers of one hand, creating a protective shield around Hendricks, the other stretched to the side to block John..

The inhumanly beautiful woman in the flowing, green dress smiled at him, white teeth and gleaming golden eyes. Her glossy red hair fell in perfect waves over her back, as unnatural as all of her.

"My dear godson, it has been way too long since we last met," she greeted him with a seductive purr. "You figured it out."

"You knew?"

Marcone had elegantly stepped out from behind Dresden, ignoring the outstretched arm. He looked vaguely interested in their visitor, like taking in a bothersome interloper, and very much as if he was in control of the situation. Sharp eyes assessed the Fae, his smile cool and distant.

"I had believed we have an understanding, Leanansidhe," he greeted her pleasantly.

"Oh, this is but a nicety," she replied with a smile on her perfect lips that was quite insincere. "A social visit with my dear, dear godson. Outside your Hold, Baron of Chicago." Now that smile grew sharper, colder, and knowing.

He cocked an eyebrow, not agreeing but also not denying that very fact. They were outside Marcone's actual Freehold, which encompassed the city of Chicago inside its borders, but not any of the wider area.

Lea chuckled.

"What do you want?" Harry demanded.

"I was waiting for this moment to occur. It wasn't that long. Not as long as I thought you might take to find the key. Your beloved shield is rather smart." She flashed an appreciative look at Marcone, who gave her a stoic look in return. "You opened the map, despite my warnings, as I knew you would. You are so much like her in that regard. Your mother had an unbreakable spirit, unlike many mortal humans that entered the Nevernever. She was not like many and sadly she perished before she could rise above her own limits and prove just what was inside her. It was her hope that you would come into your heritage, that you would be of magic, and she wasn't wrong."

He narrowed his eyes at the powerful Fae. "You knew how to open it," Dresden accused, trying to keep his emotions under control.

"Of course, my sweet one."

But she could never do it herself. A lightbulb went off. "You helped her seal it!"

The Leanansidhe looked pleased, the teacher surprised and clearly approving of a student's success at solving a puzzle. "Yes. Margaret was quite clever in her spellwork. She could not code it to you specifically, though. Not alone."

So she had asked the Leanansidhe. His mother had asked one of the most powerful High Sidhe to encrypt the spell to only work when two specific events coincided: her son Harry and his ability to manipulate and direct raw elemental magic, the latter for which he needed an anchor.

What had she bargained with? What kind of deal had she struck to manage this feat? What price had she paid in the end, aside from dying?

Lea's smile was beguiling, almost overwhelmingly seductive, and Harry fought the effects. He reached for his shield, felt it brush over his very soul.

"She had hoped for you to become a wizard one day, dearest. Only if you proved to be strong enough, to be able to withstand what this knowledge entails, would you gain what she has given you."

"And I need an anchor to handle the magic I needed," he murmured.

She inclined her head.

His mother hadn't seen his future. She had known that to use what she had been naturally capable of, to follow in her footsteps, her son would have to grow very powerful himself. Harry would have to handle the vast knowledge of the map, of the Waypoints, and to be theoretically capable to travel as she had.

It was one thing to know about a few Ways; wizards used them like a subway. But his mother had been in places that no one else had, that might try to tear apart his mind, take his soul, and that would require this vast power he hadn't been able to control before. She had had the ability to predict where Ways would appear.

"You could have told me!"

"That wasn't part of our agreement. Margaret asked me to give this to you when I deemed you ready."

Nothing more, nothing less. She had never asked Lea to also supply the key. Like she hadn't specified to her just how she was to keep her godson safe. Fae, as was their nature, took to those unspecified terms of a contract and interpreted them their own way; sometimes in quite extreme and possibly painful ways. Painful for the human involved. She would never do anything that would lead to Harry's death, but she also saw her agreement to protect him the Faerie way. Which meant turning him into a hellhound or burdening him with the mantle of the Winter Knight was acceptable.

His mother had been dying at the time, with little time to work out the finer points, so she had entrusted her son and the ruby to the Leanansidhe, but she hadn't told her to also help him access it.

"It also wouldn't have helped you, Harry. To know how to open it and to open it are not the same." The golden eyes appraised Marcone again. "At the time you didn't have your Baron. Even his acquaintance wasn't enough to enable you to undo the spellwork."

He glowered at her. "A little hint would have helped. But yeah, she never told you to help me, right?"

He smile was terrifyingly inhuman.

"Thanks for nothing," he muttered wryly.

The golden eyes flared with amusement. "You are welcome, child. Maybe now that you know the Ways, you will visit your beloved godmother more often. I thirst for your company."

Marcone's face was made of stone and he didn't move a muscle, but the protective instincts were screaming off him.

"We will think about it," he said before Harry could answer, voice like cutting glass.

Lea laughed musically, clearly amused, eyes glowing from deep within.

And then she disappeared again, taking the sharp bite of Winter with her. Part of Harry that still echoed with the Winter Knight's power, shivered and finally relaxed.

"Wow," he muttered.

John gave him a pointed look.

"Wow," Harry just repeated, still clutching the ruby.

Bob, who had been absolutely silent and probably trying not to attract too much attention from a being that could as easily snuff him out of existence as she could free him from his prison, hummed.

"Yep, wow. Your mother was a piece of work, boss. This is some heavy faerie magic combined with whatever your mom could do. So, planning any social visits?" he teased. "Tea and cookies? Not that I'd recommend eating anything a Fae serves you."

"Not any time soon."

Marcone's lips thinned and his eyes narrowed briefly. "I would prefer you don't at all. At least right now."

"Yeah."

Using the Ways was one thing. He, like many wizards, did it all the time to travel. And while he hadn't been a frequent traveler lately, he wouldn't just not use them at all. Wizards needed the Ways. He simply wasn't going to just visit without a really good and solid reason.

His stomach growled, breaking the silence. John smiled.

"Food?" he offered as they headed to the car, accompanied by Hendricks, who had been as much in the background as Bob, watching and waiting for any order from Marcone.

"Sounds like a plan."

"What is your opinion on a decent restaurant?"

Harry shot him an affronted look. "Pizza 'Spress is a decent restaurant! And they always have a free table."

"They have only the one table," was the desert dry reply. "Covered in red plastic tablecloth."

"At least I'm not paying ten times for a plate that has nothing but a lettuce leaf and some moussy stuff with fish eggs on it."

Marcone chuckled and just gave him that fondly exasperated look. "You, Mr. Dresden, are a culinary disaster."

"I know what I like and I don't like to leave hungry and wondering how that stuff constitutes as food."

"Yes, you are more of an all you can eat buffet type."

"I know you like pizza," he argued. "I've seen you liking pizza! And burgers."

"I'm infinitely adaptable," Marcone teased.

"And I'm not?" Harry growled.

"You have a very linear kind of food craving."

"Nothing wrong about that!"

"No, not at all." John's eyes were alight with way too much laughter.

"And it's almost past midnight!" Dresden insisted. "What members only exclusive high end restaurant is open that late?"

"I know a place."

"Of course you do," came the snort.

They had by now almost reached the car after hiking a good thirty minutes.

"Trust me?"

Harry shot him a quick look, banter bleeding into a more serious expression for a long moment. Marcone raised his eyebrows, still amused, and Harry let the tension flow away for now.

"Okay. Surprise me."

Not something he liked as a rule, but something that had happened way too often as a rule in his life. Marcone smiled softly, warmly.

"You won't be disappointed."

It was a surprise, because the restaurant was a tiny Italian place that was truly still open and serving the meanest spaghetti Harry had ever tasted. Homemade, the menu declared. The bread was equally homemade and the garlic butter was amazing. John drank wine while Harry stayed with water. He might have been tempted by Mac's ale, but spaghetti and beer were atrocious.

A rotund woman who had to be between sixty and ninety bustled around them, serving food to the only dinner guests left, and when Marcone paid, he and Harry were the last.

"Didn't know this place existed," Dresden murmured, feeling pleasantly full.

"It's a family secret."

He slanted a look at the other man. "Family?"

"Not that family, Harry. I have known Tanna's family for a very long time and not related to my organization."

He grunted.

"The restaurant has been in her family for generations. I think her great-grandfather opened it and now she continues this tradition."

"Really great food."

"I'll relay your compliments to the cook the next time."

Harry shot him a brief smile and leaned back in the car, enjoying the ride, the sparse traffic, the calmness of the early morning hour. Comfortable silence had settled between them.

He was tired, but part of him was very buoyant, very much high on his success, on the remnants of the raw magic. Not even Lea's revelations and her invitation could dampen his spirits. Marcone reached over and threaded their fingers together, squeezing his hand. Harry felt a shiver at the contact, reacting soul-deep and intensely to the other man. Apparently there were a few remnants of magic left.

Still not words were spoken.

They didn’t need them.


	24. Chapter 24

Things had slowly balanced out and settled. Not in a manner that could be called peaceful or serene, but Harry felt like he could finally breathe more easily, a huge weight he hadn't been really aware of off his shoulders. Nothing was ever routine, but there was a kind of normalcy. He enjoyed the days when he didn't have to chase something out of the Nevernever, a sorcerer, warlock or megalomaniacal mundane with visions of grandeur. He got more consultant work from the police department, Murphy thawing more and more. They were on talking terms, and there was some occasional banter from Harry's side and heavy scowling from Murphy's.

Just as before.

John ran his organization as smoothly as always. There had been a meeting with someone from New York, but Harry hadn't asked. He still didn't get involved in that side of the Freehold and Marcone didn't tell him anything either. Crime was under control and the few attempts by rival gangs were neatly squashed. When one of his cases coincided with something of Marcone's less than legal ventures, their cooperation went smoothly and professionally.

Marcone's men knew their resident wizard, didn't take potshots at his friends, even waited for Harry to give the order that yes, they could shoot at the latest interference of a supernatural kind. The newbies either quickly learned or were replaced. Harry knew that Hendricks and Gard did some serious job interviews when it came to new men and not everyone made it to the second round or the third.

What had become absolutely normal was living together. Harry had very quickly become accustomed to having someone share living space, just like John had adjusted to him. It had been so very new for the both of them. Neither had had another soul in such close quarters on a permanent basis who wasn't a bodyguard or a spirit of intellect, or had four paws. Harry no longer had his own place to use as an excuse, but the large house enabled them both to have their freedom and not fall over the other wherever one turned.

Sometimes, Marcone didn't see his wizard for almost all week when Harry was deeply ensconced in something magic-related, working in his lab, trying out spells, tweaking potions, or just discussing something with Bob. The same was true for Harry when it came to John himself. He had meetings, late night video conference calls, and sometimes he forgot the time when he was reading over papers. There had been a two week period when Dresden had wondered whether Marcone had moved out all of a sudden or had simply managed to never be around when Harry was there, because there had been not a single hair to be seen of him.

Weekends had no meanings, nor holidays or any kind of festivities. There were not even a handful of exceptions. Valentine's Day had never been important to Harry, until Thomas Raith. The day had turned into something special, but not because of the commercial value. It was Thomas' birthday. Dresden usually dragged his brother to Mac's, treated him to the most perfect steak and as much beer as they could stomach, then they hung out at Harry's until one of them fell asleep.

"Valentine's with a vampire," John had teased. "A White Court. If I didn't know any better I'd be very suspicious of your activities."

Harry had stared at him. "What? Thomas isn't…" Then he had caught up and just thrown a pillow at the other man. "Ass."

No, they were quite an unconventional couple.

Couple.

Harry still couldn't wrap his head around it. The relationship with John was so normal and still so extraordinary, but he had never thought of them as a couple. Like Michael and Charity. Okay, they weren't married and they had no kids, aside from a dog that doubled as a woolly mammoth, a cat the size of a small pony, and a spirit of air and intellect with a questionable moral compass. Harry might call them dependents.

But they were… a couple?

Bob might call them a couple of idiots. He could almost hear that sarcastic tone of voice, too. They were connected; magically bonded, sure. But…

Huh.

Harry had never been one to label things, unless it concerned lab ingredients in Tupperware containers, but to put a label on people was too straight-forward. And trying to describe him and Marcone was… almost impossible.

Currently John was dozing against him, loose-limbed, pliant, and with tousled hair tickling Harry's chin. His breathing was slow, deep, almost meditative. He had been in some soul-sucking business conferences lately, some of them concerning his Hold, some of them rather mundane and yet absolutely mind-numbing. Today was the first day in weeks they were sharing living space, the couch, a meal, and had alone-time.

Harry was enjoying it immensely, especially since Marcone was a world-class cuddler and the make-out session had been very satisfying.

The weather had changed from the first sunny spring days to rain coming down in sheets. The world outside was gray and unwelcoming.

Yes, John Marcone had been in one harrying business meeting after another, doing his savvy political maneuvering, acquiring companies, or tearing down abandoned ruins to build apartment complexes or office buildings. There had been several charity fundraisers, some kind of grand opening and reception, a few shake-hands occasions, and other mundane stuff. Harry hadn't been aware of the Unseelie Accords meeting, only after it had run its course, and he had been surprised that Marcone hadn't dragged him along to fortify his position.

"I am not using you as a pawn, Harry," had been a calm answer, the voice like steel. "You are not my trophy. Nor are you needed as my bodyguard."

"Uh-kay…"

It had been a surprise. A big surprise. Harry would have bet good money on it that Marcone would want him along; they were connected. Then again, Harry wouldn't want Marcone along if the White Council sent their less-than-cordial invitation. Something he had been dreading for a while now and something that hadn't happened.

Yet.

It had him on edge.

"Still with me?" he softly broke the silence that had comfortably sat between them for hours.

It got him a soft hum.

"So you want a ring?" John asked sleepily.

"Hm?"

Strong fingers threaded between Harry's, resting on Dresden's flat stomach. "If you want a ring, I can arrange for that."

Dark eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"We could shape it to be like your kinetic rings."

Harry groaned. "I don't want a ring, John!"

"You brought it up."

"I didn't!"

"You talked about us being a weird couple," Marcone teased, moving to kiss him.

"I did?" Damn, he had been thinking out loud.

"Yes. So, no ring?"

"Nope." Another kiss. "I love you. My magic loves you. That's enough."

"You say the sweetest things, Harry Dresden."

"That's me. Smooth talker par excellence."

"Have you been reading the dictionary again? You know that's tough literature."

Harry punched his arm lightly. "Asshole."

They lay together, enjoying each other's company. There was no frenzy, just a peaceful calmness, filled with gentle explorations.

John fell asleep after a while and Harry watched him with a fond smile, carding his fingers through his hair, tousling it gently.

They had the whole day. No appointments, no cases, no need to be anywhere. Just the two of them, unless an emergency intervened.

Thankfully, there was none.

*

"Mr. Dresden."

Harry turned around, surprised that he hadn't heard or felt the man approach. Dark blond hair, looking to be in his early thirties, dressed like he was on his way to a business meeting, the guy was as unassuming as they came. About 5'10'' and a little on the pale side, but not every blond guy could pull off the sunburned surfer-dude looks. Especially in Chicago.

"Yeah?" Harry said carefully, noting that the man hadn’t even formulated the address as a question.

They were on an open street, people passing by, ignoring them. It wasn't a bad part of the city, also not one of the busy touristy areas or the financial district. There was a hot dog vendor not far away, a newspaper kiosk, and the storefronts were all open and lit up.

"My name is Lennart Graine," the man introduced himself.

Didn't ring a bell. The guy sounded British, but in a way that suggested he hadn't been among his fellow Brits for a while. He had a decidedly American inflection. He wasn't in a business suit, wearing more of a leisurely attire. It was clean, he was well-groomed and though he featured a two-day scruff, it didn't appear involuntary. All in all not a man he would have looked at twice and one he had never seen before.

"Do I know you?" Harry asked, frowning. His magic tightened inside.

"No." Graine smiled neutrally. "We have never met before. May we talk?"

"Do we have an appointment?"

He was sure he had no clients or potential clients meeting him today. And why was something niggling at the back of his skull?

Graine looked briefly amused. "We don't have an appointment, but I would like to talk to you. And Mr. Marcone."

Alarm bells started shrilling. Lots of them. The unassuming stranger just continued to give him that mild, harmless smile.

"Who are you?" Harry hissed through clenched teeth.

"Not an enemy. Actually, you could call us likeminded."

That didn't help to ease the tension creeping through his body. Harry felt the magic whisper underneath his skin, at the ready.

"Okay, what are you?" Harry rephrased his question, mind racing as to what the man might be.

"An interested party. Please. There is a reservation for us at Macanally's."

Neutral territory. Nothing would happen at Mac's pub, or whoever started something would have to answer to the signatories of the Unseelie Accords. Not something to look forward to.

"Didn't know Mac made reservations."

Graine smirked. "He does. For old friends."

 _How old?_ Harry wondered, the tension doubling now. _And friends? Plural?_ The guy wasn't alone then.

"What's this about?"

"I'd prefer we meet Mr. Marcone at Macanally's and I will answer your questions."

"You and who else?"

Graine's expression was almost approving. "I'd rather not discuss this on the street. Too many eyes, too many ears."

He ground his teeth. Finally, Harry made up his mind, stupid as the decision might be. Then again, Dresden had never been known for very smart first moves when it came to some situations.

"Alright. After you, Mr. Graine."

Graine smiled, still amused, and headed down the street.

It was a short walk and Harry surreptitiously studied the man, but he couldn't remember ever seeing him before. He didn't have the aura of a practitioner and he surely didn't belong to the White Court. Incubi vampires had a very special feel to them.

So, human?

He had no idea. And if he was human, how did he know Mac's? Not to mention that whoever they were meeting, they had somehow brought Marcone to the pub, too?

Because they were heading into the right direction and so far Harry hadn't picked up on anyone following them, any kind of spells or supernaturals trying to get the drop on him.

That didn't mean anything in his line of work, Harry knew. And the tension didn't abate.

The pub was mostly empty. Time never played a role when it came to occupancy. Mcanally's was always open and Mac was always there. Harry had never asked, tried to never think about it.

Mac only glanced at him, cleaning glasses as he took note of who had entered. Sharp eyes scanned over the two new-arrivals, then he went back to his cleaning. No one else so much as looked their way. The few patrons were either alone, nursing a drink, or talking to someone.

John Marcone sat at one of the more discretely located tables, one preferred by those who wanted to talk in peace and not be immediately approached. He was impeccably dressed in a suit that would buy Harry a year's worth of magical supplies and leave him enough for a good steak dinner twice a week. He oozed suave politeness, his expression so tightly controlled, Harry knew he was as tense as Dresden felt himself. They hadn't seen each other since last night. A night Harry had spent in the lab, going over a potion that was time sensitive, and Marcone had been in an early meeting.

Nothing new.

And John didn't look like someone had dragged him out of that meeting by force or had abducted him from under Henricks' watchful eyes.

He had company, but it wasn't Hendricks. It was already disconcerting to not see the man who was his Marcone's shadow on any given day of the week. The other man at the table...

Harry caught a whiff of something quite distinctive. Magic. Wizard. Really strong but dampened by whatever protective shield the guy had up. It was a guy who seemed to be the epitome of a middle-aged librarian, with glasses, neatly combed, dark hair, and dressed in last century's fashion. The seventies, to be precise. He was truly wearing a corduroy suit. Burgundy, with a pink and white striped shirt. Thankfully, no tie.

Okay, Harry Dresden would be the last person to play fashion critic, seeing how he dressed up. Apparently wizards tended to be eccentric.

Marcone looked at him, face blank and unreadable, unless someone who was very acquainted with the man, say, his wizard, knew him. He was in his CEO mode, coupled with a healthy dose of crime boss and not just a little bit of Freeholding Lord. And he was armed to the teeth and ready to use his very commendable repertoire of mundane and magical weaponry.

"Mr. Dresden," he said, voice cool and inflectionless. "How nice of you to join us." He radiated an air of detached interest, like he was only here to enjoy the beer. "Timely as ever."

"Marcone," he replied, keeping it just as neutral. "What's a scumbag like you doing in a nice place like that?"

For some reason Marcone's table buddy looked highly amused at the exchange.

Dresden flexed his fingers, then forced himself to relax. No need to call on his magic. Neutral ground. Nothing would happen here; nothing at all. The entire place was designed to diffuse and refract random magical energies. The only magic allowed was veils for privacy if needed.

Mr. Librarian raised his eyebrows as if he was quite aware of what Harry was thinking. "That's not necessary, Mr. Dresden. I assure you, we are not the enemy. Marlin Emris," he introduced himself as if in an after-thought.

Like Graine, he had a distinctive British edge to his voice, but just like Harry's companion it seemed he hadn't spent much time on the Isle. He had lost most of the inflection, but not enough to blend in with an American crowd.

"Not sure I can believe that, Mr. Emris. Whoever you really are."

That got him a quirked eyebrow. "Lennart and I were in your situation once. A long, long time ago." Emris smiled. "It took me a lot longer to find my counterbalance than you, Harry. And it took Lennart almost a lifetime to acknowledge our connection. Please. Take a seat."

His eyes tracked between the two men and while Harry didn't so much as glance at Marcone, he knew John was scanning them just as closely. The tension level was high and Harry had never been more relieved that Mac's was neutral. Nothing would happen, not even a kick in the shin, so whatever and whoever this guy and his friend were, they weren't about to turn Harry into a puddle of goo.

Dresden slid into the seat next to Marcone without a second glance at his companion, his eyes only on Emris and Graine.

"Who are you?" he repeated slowly, with quite a warning. "And what do you want?"


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, yes, we are approaching the final chapters! I'm guessing about 2 or 3 more... 
> 
> Shorter one today due to Real Life (work is really being a bother. People really don't like being told to wear masks, keep their distance and please, no groups! Use the sanitizer we supply! Geez!).

"I am very sure you know I am a wizard," Emris explained, voice so amiable and calm, it should be disengaging, but it set Harry on edge nevertheless. Maybe even more because of it.

Marcone, while seemingly completely unconcerned on the outside, was just as tense and ready. Harry could almost feel that tightness.

"Did the White Council send you?" he asked coolly. "Warden? If so, let me tell you I don't appreciate being bullied into meeting the new guys on the block. This is my city and I'm the warden. I don't intend to share." His voice had grown harder.

Yes, being a warden meant he was answering to the White Council, but they had kept out of his life, had been almost suspiciously absent. Maybe this was the reason why those two were here: an assessment and then a replacement. Well, if they had orders to chop off his head, Harry Dresden would not go easily. Not at all!

"Oh no, I'm not a warden." Emris chuckled as if that was the most ludicrous idea. "You probably know Lennart is not a wizard, nor any other kind of practitioner. I'm also not part of the White Council. I haven't been for a long time now. I grew… disenchanted over time." The friendly smile was there, but the eyes hardened.

Graine was less inclined to hide his distaste about the White Council. There was a kind of anger there, a disdain that was deeply rooted.

"I sincerely doubt you'd lead us to believe you are a dark wizard," Marcone said evenly, voice hard. "Trying to recruit the black sheep of the wardens. Or wooing a powerful man like Mr. Dresden into working for you." He leaned forward, just a fraction, eyes hard and unyielding. "Or proposing an ill-advised alliance with the Freehold of Chicago over your blatant dislike of the White Council."

Harry shot him a sharp look.

Emris smiled benignly. "No. We are our own agents, so to speak. There are many more who aren't allied, beholden or indebted to either side. We keep out of political matters and when we do interfere, it usually means it concerns our Protectorate."

Harry's magic churned and he felt Marcone's shift as if the man had physically moved, which he hadn't. He didn't even glance at his shield, but he knew. He simply knew. He still couldn't pin down Emris as anything but powerfully magical. A wizard, but he doubted he was dark. Something about him was strange, even weird, as if he was trying to dial down what he truly was. No wizard flaunted his power if not in a situation where showing your cards was required. But every wizard had a magical signature that gave someone else a baseline. Emris was all over the place.

And Lennart was absolutely mundane. The shield.

Emris had called him his shield, though not in those words. He had implied that they were connected, that it had taken them a human lifetime. Harry had thought five years were long, but maybe there were people even more stubborn than him and John.

At his side, Marcone assessed Graine and Emris like he would a business rival, hands folded, looking like he was listening to a power point presentation from someone trying to make a sale. Graine sipped his beer and gave Marcone a brief smile.

"I'm really nothing more than mundane. I don't hold a position like yourself, Baron," he answered the unspoken question. "I am not a Freeholding Lord and have never been part of the Unseelie Accords. Our Protectorate is not officially known to the signatories, but it is known to certain individuals in strategic positions. As Marlin's shield, I have been recognized by Faerie, of course."

Harry's fingers nearly dug into the wooden surface of the table, mind racing with all the new information that was dropped in their laps. Some of it really very much between the lines. And they knew a hell of a lot about them!

From whom? Where from? Not Faerie. It couldn't have been Faerie. Lea wouldn't reveal this to anyone, though maybe Mab… And if not Faerie, who else might know? The Council? They had to suspect something, but Emris had said the Council wasn't a favorite of them either.

"You, Mr. Marcone, as a shield and anchor to Harry, have been acknowledged the same way since you connected to him," Graine went on. "It strengthens your position within the Accords and it gave your Hold the status it has today."

The words had Harry's spine straighten and the magic curl in his belly. Marcone's leg pressed against his and he exhaled slowly, calming his nerves and refusing to give in to his temper. At least right now.

"How do you know all of this?" he asked, congratulating himself that he sounded so calm and collected.

"We have known about you, Harry Dresden, since you came to Chicago and first discovered your shield," Emris explained with absolute calm. "We have followed both your careers, with surprise mostly. You have made rapid steps in your development since you met and it only cemented the fact what you would become one day. Due to your so strong and powerful connection, Chicago is by now known as a Protectorate by the neutrals and grays, though in whispers only. Not many such places exist in this world and they mostly disappear off the maps in time for various reasons. Usually a place of power falls to one of the wizarding factions, in some cases Winter or Summer. I feared that to happen when you took on the mantle of the Winter Knight, even though it could never keep its hold on you."

Harry was frozen in shock, unable to understand what he was hearing. They had been… watching… all of that…?

"You watch and study prospective wizards of a certain potential." Marcone studied them with a cold, clinical expression. "You wait for them to go either way, black or white. You don't interfere. Like a science project."

"We don't watch or study," Lennart said with a slightly amused expression. "Harry has… stood out. In many ways."

"We also never interfere. That would change the odds, push an individual into one direction or another," Emris confirmed.

"And you wait for those uniquely powerful wizards to find their shield?" Marcone looked like a predator staking out its prey, assessing the situation with absolute detachment, making up his mind and plotting both kill points, fast exists and head-on confrontations.

"Yes."

"Where is your Protectorate?" he wanted to know.

"Far enough not to threaten you, Baron Marcone."

"That wasn't my question." Softly spoken, the words still carried a threat, a promise of violence.

"But that is my answer."

Marcone's face never changed, but Harry could feel the danger level rise.

"I'm afraid it is the wrong one. I don't appreciate being summoned and made a fool of." There was a tightness to his energy, his eyes so much sharper, harder, and growing colder. His back was ramrod straight, face a reflection of the ruthless soul that sat inside the mortal shell. "I also don't appreciate being spied upon."

"My request to meet us here was not meant as a summoning," Emris replied politely. "Nor would I dare to call you a fool or make you seem like one, Baron. I have the highest respect for you and what you have accomplished." He nodded at them both. "You have come a long way in a much shorter time than anyone I know. Myself included. You are very young, but you already have access to a power that would have destroyed almost all of the Senior Council at that age." He folded his hands, giving them an almost fatherly smile. "And I believe you have more questions than any book could ever answer. You cannot ask anyone else. The White Council's fear of anything too powerful is endless. You experienced that irrational fear, Harry. You know what lengths they go to. It was one reason why I finally decided to let myself disappear."

Dresden finally glanced at his companion. Marcone still looked like a statue, but he, too, was running all kinds of scenarios through his head.

"And the other?" John asked, latching on to that information.

"To keep Lennart safe, of course." The bespectacled eyes met Marcone's pale green ones. "I believe you have experienced how powerful that instinct is in yourself, Mr. Marcone. How it drives you, how it changes you. It doesn't diminish over time. It will always be there and it goes both ways. You may be the shield and you may be possessive and protective, but the wizard is just as protective. My continued presence among the Senior Council had proven to be disruptive to my connection to my shield."

"Disruptive. In what manner?" Marcone pressed on.

Emris' was suddenly quite serious and Harry saw the reflection of an old pain in his eyes. And those eyes also reflected an age that had him swallow.

"A shield is a mundane anchoring a practitioner. They know about the world of the supernatural because of that connection, about magic, and they are forever connected to a powerful wizard. Not everyone among the Senior Council looks favorably toward such connections. The Council tries to keep the involvement of mundane humans to a minimum, and there were times when such knowledge meant a death sentence."

Harry's magic spiked briefly.

Emris' smile was tight and filled with almost brittle emotions. "Lennart and I connected in a time when magic was almost normal. That changed. Times change. And the White Council has changed throughout the centuries. A shield will never be magical, be able to use magic, and that makes them a target and vulnerable to attack. I had to make a decision and I made the only one I could. For the safety of my anchor and shield. Someone else took over, took my place and my name," Emris smiled briefly. "And we disappeared, and with us our Protectorate."

The words of the Leanansidhe suddenly came back to him and Harry felt himself pale, brain stalling and sputtering. He knew he must look like a complete idiot as he wheezed. Graine looked amused, Emris just smiled.

Marcone's face was unreadable, but the way he bumped their legs together, he was very clear on the identity of the two men, too.

Harry's mouth ran dry. "Uh…" he stuttered. "No way you want to tell me you're…"

Emris. Emrys, the immortal… Which meant Lennart Graine… Ygraine… Lenn-Art…

He stared at the blond and his mouth dropped open, then snapped shut again. The man known to the world as Arthur Pendragon, son of Ygraine de Boise and Uther Pendragon, nodded, smiling.

Marcone was silent, his expression intense and almost inhuman. Hardened mobsters had wet themselves when faced with this expression and it felt like a gathering storm to Harry. No magic; a different kind of power that had enabled him to become the first human to rise to the position of a Freeholding Lord under the Unseelie Accords.

"Merlin Emrys," he said calmly, voice pleasant, not the least bit shocked. "Arthur Pendragon. Quite a reveal, I have to admit."

Dresden stared at him as if Marcone had lost his mind. Talking to the greatest wizards of all kind and the former king of England like they were… business associates? Marcone gave him a smirk in return, only briefly meeting the wide, dark eyes.

"We prefer Marlin and Lennart," Arthur-Lennart told him. "I haven't been Arthur for a while, though Art and Artie have popped up now and then." He smiled. "Names are just that. For us they hold no meaning, unlike those of faeries. You cannot invoke a wizard by his name spoken out loud three times. A soul is the same, no matter the name attached to it."

"Are you freaking serious?!" Harry whisper-hissed, voice rough.

The two men nodded.

"Hell's Bells!"


	26. Chapter 26

Harry's eyes darted around the pub and found no one paid them any attention.

"Veil," Merlin, well, Marlin explained easily.

He hadn't even felt one go up. Damn, this was powerful magic! Old, very old and seasoned magic. Seeing who he was facing, it was probably no more than a thought for this man. A simple thought and no incantation, no flick of a finger, the raw power following his command easily.

He didn't really want to think about what this man could do, how much magic he could wield, how proficient and accomplished he was. Sure, Marlin wasn't the first of wizard-kind, but the most legendary. There had been others before him, all over the planet. Some going back as far as thousands of years…

"Mac makes an exception for old acquaintances when it comes to powerful magic," Marlin added with a small smile. "As long as it is simply a veil. Anything else even I wouldn't get away with."

"How very reassuring," was John's dry comment.

"It is, isn't it?"

"Why did you come here?" Marcone asked, returning to what was burning in Harry's mind as well.

"We came to Chicago because of you. You are where we were so many years ago. With no idea what to expect, what you are, how to handle this. With many questions."

_A million and one!_ shot through Harry's head. He was looking at the greatest wizard who had ever lived, and his shield! A wizard who had disappeared one day, without a trace, and now was here.

No one had known about the mundane connected to him! There was nothing anywhere in any books, nothing anyone had ever talked about, mentioned or whispered of! Yes, Arthur was a legend, had been kept a legend due to his involvement in the magical world, but Merlin's name was what had survived.

Now… now he was looking at those two men, understood what they were, and Harry felt absolutely stunned; shell-shocked. He helplessly looked at his own shield.

Dark eyebrows winged up. Marcone kept his pleasant façade firmly in place. "How can I believe you are who you say you are?" he asked, matter-of-fact.

"John!" Dresden hissed.

"A valid question, Mr. Dresden," Marcone told him. "One that should have been the first on your mind, too. We take their word for who they are?"

"Uhm…"

"Ask Harry." Marlin gave him a smile.

And Harry knew… felt… it was the truth, not a glamour, a lie, a trick. It was a surge and a gentle wave in one, a recognition. His magic confirmed it, was thrilled to touch something as equally unlimited and raw as it was itself.

From the way John looked at him he understood and accepted it. His features shifted back to business.

"Why do you figure we still have questions, Mr. Emris?" he asked smoothly as if this was just another business meeting. "We have handled ourselves quite well so far, even with so-called well-meant interference and meddling. Is there anything of use you can tell us that we haven't managed on our own?" His eyebrows twitched again. "Because according to you, you have been surveilling us all the time and only now showed yourselves."

Dresden gaped at him, not sure to be affronted or astounded by the audacity of the questions. John Marcone, ladies and gentlemen. It got him a bland look and raised eyebrows. Marcone was in element, no matter who he was faced with. He had sat down with the Queens of Summer and Winter. He had faced absolute evil and stood his ground against creatures some seasoned wizards feared in their dreams. This was just another day at the office for him, dealing with a legend and very powerful man.

Lennart chuckled. He popped some peanuts into his mouth. "Only a few of the most powerful wizards have had mundane mortal partners over the centuries. Arthur Langtry being the last I know about before you came along. With you, we became more interested."

"Why?" Harry blurted.

"You are a very strong young man, Harry. You came into your magic in your early teenage years like almost all, but it was more power than any other of your age had ever been confronted with. You stood out. In many ways. Sadly, also to the wrong people."

Harry's face closed off and his hands curled into fists. Marcone's leg pressed tightly against his own. His magic reached for John, curled around him, needing the reassurance and the strength. A year ago Dresden would have been horrified how much he depended on one John Marcone as his steady rock in the violent sea of elemental magic, of his not so straight-forward life. Today it was absolutely the norm. Marcone gave him that calmness and control and Harry returned the favor with his personal brand of unpredictability and chaos.

It worked. Somehow it worked and each needed the other just as he was.

Marlin gave him an apologetic look. "I don't want to drag out old memories, Harry. My apologies. We didn't seek you out to talk about what you are in regards of being a wizard. You will work all of that out on your own. I'm not here to offer to teach you magic, only insights into what it is you, the two of you, are. Wizards today know little more than we did about shields and anchors, about the counterbalance a bond might bring to a very powerful practitioner, because barely a handful would consider a mundane worth the effort. All the old knowledge has disappeared."

Harry felt Marcone's leg briefly brush against his again while the man looked as cool as a cucumber, watching the two legendary figures with calm composure. The touch was calming and grounding.

"Hardly anyone knows what the connection that forms between a wizard and his shield means for the mundane," Marlin added, glancing at his own companion. "They never cared. But power corrupts. It also corrupts the shield if the bond is rotten and wasting away."

Dresden felt a surge of nausea. John's leg was now firmly pressed against him, reminding him that the man was right there, whole and healthy, and they were doing just fine.

"There is a fine line between the dark and the light, but you already know that, Harry. It's a balance that needs to be maintained. It's a balance that can tip either way all of a sudden and when it goes back to its original state, no harm, no foul. If you stay in the dark or if you think you can surpass the light, the imbalance will tear you apart."

The knowing look had him shiver. Marlin nodded, looking pleased.

"All powerful wizards struggle with this. It's so easy to follow a lure. It takes an incredible strength to stay sane."

"Hence the anchor and shield," Marcone remarked.

"Yes. And also no. The shield can only ever be passive. No mundane has the power to take over, pull the wizard back once the imbalance has been created. Should I have tipped to the black magic, Lennart wouldn't have been able to stop me or turn me back to the white side. You showed an incredible strength in doing what you did, Mr. Marcone. While Harry was not about to go dark, he had lost control of himself. You asserted that control, gave him back control."

John's features shifted into a mild scowl. "You said a shield has no active powers. I didn't do anything."

"Yes, you have no powers. Yes, you can't do anything. But the two of you had the emotional bond already, before you ever knew what else you had. That is a very strong connection, Mr. Marcone. Stronger than anything else. Whatever those emotions were on the surface, deep inside they were true and strong. Enough to get through to a wizard who was already very close to the point of no return."

"I had lost it," Harry murmured. "Because we did it backwards."

"Yes," Marlin agreed. "You were almost gone. If not for the past manipulations and abuse you would have been more receptive to your shield. Mr. Marcone proved that an anchor can work even then if, and that is to be stressed, if there is a solid emotional bond. Your emotions, Harry. All that temper, those fights, the intensity of your relationship."

Harry exhaled slowly, felt his magic whisper through him, echoing those words in its own way. They had done it backwards because he was a hot mess, and because of it Marcone had saved him; again. John lightly bumped his leg against his again, startling him out of his thoughts. He looked into those pale green eyes, saw the fire, the conviction, the strength. The man was the epitome of calmness.

"Do you know what this connection means for the man who is now your partner?" Marlin broke into their moment.

Harry shrugged. "I know we share a life."

The other wizard inclined his head. "Yes. You have a strong, very solid bond. The emotions that existed between you from the beginning sped up the process, cemented the fact. It was never an arrangement like others had. It was something that flowed naturally, ebbed, then spiked, and you both developed very strong protective instincts toward each other, even before you acknowledged the reality of what you have. Not just simple fondness or a friendship."

Harry refused to blush and from Marcone's expression it was a failing endeavor. Briefly, there was this fondness, this softness, one reserved for only Harry. His magic purred, reminded him that yes, he loved this man and had long before that fateful near-catastrophe in his lab.

"But this strength that came from both of you also reflects on your shield," Marlin stated evenly.

Marcone's face went blank and his eyes narrowed fractionally. "Explain," he demanded, voice soft and polite, yet loaded.

"A wizard protects his shield at all cost and with all means, including a very personal magic that forms between you as you grow together emotionally. You, Mr. Marcone, might not be as innocent and as susceptible to the dangers of the Nevernever, the faerie, the vampires and all other kinds of the supernatural, but you cannot defend yourself with magic."

"I have my ways."

"Some of them very effective," Lennart agreed. "It doesn't stop Mr. Dresden from worrying. The wizard never stops worrying." He shot his wizard a brief grin. "Because we are not only mortal but also mundane."

Harry willed his teeth to unclench, his fingers not to curl into fists. He knew just how the chances in a magical battle were should John get in the line of fire. He had already been mauled by a wyldfae since they had connected. It wouldn't be the last encounter.

"It's also our advantage," Lennart added with a grin. "Because others keep underestimating us."

Marcone gave him a cold, shark-like smile. He had been underestimated countless times.

"As a mundane you cannot learn magic," Marlin told him. "Nor can you learn how wield magical objects. What you have is your anchor in your wizard's soul, his very core. You could be mainlining his elemental magic, if you had any scrap of a practitioner's talent, but you don't. But Harry's magic will protect you through it. You are still very much mundane and passive in a magical sense, absolutely neutral, but it won't be easy to entangle you in spells that wouldn't hurt Harry either. There is a certain… spillover, we discovered." He glanced at Lennart again, who nodded, a fond, almost reminiscent smile on his lips. "It normally happens in time; at least it did for us."

"Uhm…" Harry stammered.

"As you grow, so does your connection. It usually starts out small and then, as you grow accustomed to one another, the connection starts to branch out, to envelop your shield as he envelops you."

Marcone's expression was neutral and unreadable. Harry was trying to understand.

"My shield lived a very happy and long life with his wife before our connection finalized."

John nodded, probably recalling all he could about one Arthur Pendragon.

"You are on a much faster track, seeing how your lives have become so much one already."

Dresden blinked, flabbergasted, absolutely at a loss for words. He knew his magic responded strongly to John, but he hadn't given it much thought. It had seemed… normal, considering. Hell's Bells, they were connected, so why shouldn't his magic love him? It was sometimes like a big, fluffy kitten, rubbing up against its favorite human. Yes, it was lethal, very feral if provoked, but it loved John. Because Harry loved him.

"Uhm..?"

Marcone gave him one of those looks of fond exasperation that told Dresden he was behaving like a complete idiot again.

"Our emotional connection sped up the magical component," Marcone summarized.

"Indeed. It is like an imprint, a mark on both of you."

"This imprint isn't detectable by magic or other methods?" John asked, calmly meeting Merlin's eyes. He sounded like he was asking if he could get those shoes in a different color.

"No. You are neutral. Undetectable. Nothing can change that."

"Good."

Harry managed a squeak. "Good?"

"Of course. One less reason to worry in future encounters with the unsavory elements of your profession, Mr. Dresden. I believe surprise is always in our favor." His smile was sharp and to the point. "Rumors about what we are can be dealt with, feeding more rumors and lies. To know that any magically talented being can see our connection would be both a weakness and a liability."

Harry felt his temper surge. "You are not a liability!" he hissed.

"I didn't say that," was the calm, reasonable reply, and the leg pressed against him again. "I just don't like giving an opponent a heads-up warning about who and what I really am."

He stared at him. "You are taking this rather calmly!" he accused.

"Like I told you before, when it comes to you, Harry, hardly anything surprises me anymore. You are very much unpredictable." The smirk was downright dirty. "Given your lifelong association with magic, I'm slightly troubled you are so shocked."

Dresden flailed for a comeback, then just slumped back in his chair. "Stars and Stones!"

"It won't protect you from physical attacks," Lennart cautioned.

"We already noticed," was the wry reply.

"Yes, we heard." Marlin folded his fingers. "While there is no protection against such attacks, you will gain more of a resilience. You will be harder to kill."

Marcone stiffened, his eyes narrowed, and his attention was now singularly on the powerful wizard.

"Harry will always pull you back. You can die, but you cannot perish."

Harry's face was pale as a sheet and his eyes absolutely wide. "W-what?" he stammered.

"Death is only momentary," Marcone translated.

"Wizards are not immortal!"

"No, they are not," Lennart agreed. "And as their anchors and shields, we share their lifetime. Because of how we are connected to that life, we won't be the first ones to die. We share the wizard's lifetime, John. All of it."

"Only fair," the other shield agreed.

Harry swallowed hard. For the first time, John touched him in a visible way, not just a leg underneath the table. He entangled their hands and squeezed gently.

"You will have difficult decisions ahead of you, Mr. Marcone," Marlin told him. "You have established yourself as a Freeholding Lord in a short amount of time. A mundane has never held such power. Chicago's power is spreading to the cities affiliated with your organization."

Dresden grimaced. While New York had not fallen under Marcone's rule, the new head of the New York mafia had grudgingly signed an agreement whose legalese would probably make Dresden's head spin.

"Believe me, Harry, when you have lived my time, you accept there is a large grayscale in life. Your shield is part of that gray area and he walks it with a power that is reflected in the strength of the Hold. Your connection is mirrored in him and vice versa. You are a very strong pair. Young, still learning, but you will come into that power gracefully."

"Not a word synonym for Mr. Dresden."

"Jerk," he growled. "I hope you don't have any new plans to take over the world now," Harry muttered under his breath.

John chuckled. "I harbor no such ambitions."

"You will have to step down one day, out of the limelight, become someone else again," Marlin warned. "I believe you are prepared for that, John Marcone. I also believe your Hold will not falter."

"It's my city," he stated with a dangerous warning in his voice. "I have taken and always will take full responsibility for it. I will not leave it open for anyone else."

It was delivered with such finality, Harry felt a slight shiver down his spine at the hard words.

"It is yours." Marlin smiled benignly again. "I would have gravely misjudged you if you had plans to simply hand it over to another."

"I have contingency plans," Marcone added. "I will not tolerate a shift in power or balance. A face is exchangeable. Names can change, I will not."

Okay, that was clear and very simple. Harry knew that Gard had been pulling some strings and that Donar Vadderung's association with Marcone gave him an edge. Harry had never made all too many plans for the future. He hadn't really seen much sense in it, looking at what his life was like. Marcone saw the bigger picture for a future he shaped himself.

"We can offer no allegiance forged in words, but know we are there." Marlin's words held a touch of elemental magic that seemed to whisper between them. "Our own Protectorate cannot be entered by any means, except for one Waypoint. I was told you are in possession of Margaret LeFay's map."

Harry nodded slowly.

"It contains our portal. You will be welcome to visit, should you feel the need to talk to either one of us."

"We appreciate it," Marcone replied formally.

"You have an interesting path ahead of you. I will be most interested to see if it ever ends."

Harry swallowed and from John's minute twitch, he saw his shield had read between the lines.

He simply inclined his head, too used in dealing with Faerie not to say 'thank you'.

Mac suddenly appeared at their table, holding four new bottles of beer, silently raising his eyebrows at Marlin. The man smiled and nodded.

"I have ordered dinner. I hope you don't find it too preposterous."

Since it was steak and Mac's steak was one of the best out there, Harry had no complaints at all. Marcone accepted it with the grace of his standing.

They were having dinner with two legends; casually. In a pub. Really good steak dinner.

And Harry felt more relaxed in the men's presence than he had even with Ebe.


	27. Chapter 27

There was a black limo waiting just a block down from Mac's. Marcone headed straight for it, assured that Harry would follow, which he did. In a rather dazed manner.

Hendricks got out and opened the door for Marcone to get in while Dresden managed to get the door on the other side open, just to spite Hendricks. Marcone tried not to roll his eyes, but the quick, silent exchange with Hendricks relayed as much. The bodyguard did roll his eyes and gave a barely audible grunt of annoyance.

"Home," John only said as his right hand man glanced at him from the driver's seat.

The engine started and the car smoothly pulled out into traffic. Looking at the man beside him, Marcone reached over and curled his fingers around one wrist, squeezing gently. The touch seemed to startle Harry, which told Marcone just how far gone his partner was.

Meeting a legend could do that to a man, especially a wizard who had just met the most legendary of them all.

"Harry," he murmured.

The dark eyes blinked and Dresden looked a bit shell-shocked and gray.

"Merlin," Harry whispered, voice rough. "The Merlin! The first… the original! The most powerful wizard to ever have lived…!"

"And is still alive today," John supplied unhelpfully.

He deliberately projected a laid back ease as if they had only gone out to lunch and not met up with one of the most legendary figures in magical and mundane history.

"Merlin, John!"

"Yes, you already said so."

"He's alive and he came looking for us!"

"I was there, in case you have forgotten. I met the man." Dark brows rose.

Harry raked his fingers through his hair, eyes almost wild.

If Marcone concentrated, he thought he could almost feel echoes of the agitation inside him. It was faint, definitely not him, and it was a strange churning.

"Harry."

He hadn't let go of Harry's wrist, tightening his hold; anchoring He looked into Dresden's eyes, a calm well, so very much in control.

"We made a powerful ally."

Both men hadn't really said it, but the implication had been there. John Marcone was a business man and he could read between the lines, heard hidden meanings, and he understood small gestures and innocently phrased sentences. Yes, Merlin and Arthur couldn't reappear and openly ally themselves with a Freeholding Lord and a wizard whom the White Council suspected had one foot in the dark side all the time. The information they had volunteered about the connection between wizard and shield had been invaluable already.

Marcone had filed it all away to memory and he would follow up on that information, dig deeper into what they were now.

"How did he find you?" Dresden suddenly asked.

He hadn't tried to extricate his wrist and John rubbed a gentle thumb over the soft skin of the wrist's inside.

"Mr. Emris approached me outside Executive Priority, extending an invitation to talk to him, his partner and yourself at Mac's"

"So you just… did?"

He gave Harry a little smile, relaying just how normal this was for him now. "I had an open slot on my timetable."

Dresden snorted. "He could have been up to something."

"He was."

It got him a groan.

"Experience told me that I wanted to talk to him."

"He could have abducted you!"

"Harry, trust me that my instincts in that regard are rather good. You might have noticed that there is something about him, something that doesn't ring any alarms."

Dresden visibly fought with himself. He finally let it go and slumped back against the seat, head dropping against the headrest.

"Now what?"

"Business as usual."

"After we met Merlin and Arthur?"

Marcone raised his eyebrows. "What do you want us to do?"

"I…" Harry fell silent, visibly struggling.

"They disappeared centuries ago, staying hidden unless they wanted to be seen, and until today I doubt they wanted that," John pointed out.

There was a stubborn line forming between Harry's eyes. "But…"

"We were given a great honor, Mr. Dresden."

"Yeah, but…"

"You really won't let it go," he sighed and gave him a pointed look.

"I wish I could."

"Not in your nature."

Harry scrubbed his free hand over his face. "Maybe if I sleep over it. A few dozen times. Just… Merlin, John!"

"Yes. You said so. Repeatedly."

"Asshole!"

John chuckled and raised the wrist he had trapped, kissing the hand. It startled Harry, as it always did when Marcone decided on a little PDA, even if the PDA was inside a car with tinted windows. Touch meant showing the connection, meant weakness, meant liability. There had never been an intimate or too friendly touch outside the privacy of their home. Marcone kept his professional distance and Harry wasn't particularly used to any form of public displays. Since they were keeping their relationship out of public eye, and in John's case the interested public, it wasn't all too hard for him.

"Yes, Merlin," he murmured. "Considering who else you have met, gone up against, or had fight on your side, I'm surprised by your reaction. I think the social media would call it fangirling."

Harry glared at him and Marcone smirked. The fire in those eyes burned away the shock, made him look more alive, and there was a light flush working into the paleness.

"Oh shuddup."

John grinned and released the wrist, instead interlacing their fingers. They were still at least twenty to thirty minutes away from their home. Traffic was moderate, but due to construction, Hendricks had to weave along different routes.

They spent the rest of the drive in silence, John physically anchoring his wizard while Harry's mind was whirling through whatever scenarios he was running. He would get over his meeting with Merlin, just like Marcone had. While it had been a special kind of meeting, it wasn't by far the most outstanding he, a mortal mundane human, had had either.

"He said we have a much stronger connection than normal," Dresden broke the silence as they walked into the townhouse, closing the door behind themselves.

"Yes, I heard him. I was there."

It got him another glare. John smiled, letting amusement disarm the glare. Harry muttered something under his breath.

"I believe what he implied was that you went about it the wrong way, then did a sharp turn, took a few detours, and just before you crashed and burned, you finally acknowledged what you had all along."

"Yes, thank you for the summary, class," Harry growled.

Marcone raised his eyebrows. "You are exceptionally bad at accepting things, Harry Dresden. Even offers made where a return isn't expected. You don't trust easily. You were manipulated too often. Your mentor tried to turn you into something you never were and never could be. It was instinct on your part to expect this to happen each and every time." He held the wide, brown eyes, trying to ignore the pain deep inside, how Harry had stiffened.

But he felt the whisper of the magic. It was there and it was reaching for him. It wasn't dark or dangerous, sharp or cutting. It was gentle and actually trying to draw him closer.

So Marcone stepped right up to the taller man, smiling softly.

"You trusted me to have your back on your cases. You trusted me to give you information and not sell you out. You knew I protect those I consider mine, of my city. That's what built this. It wove together before you realized what I am to you, Harry Dresden, and that's why we are what we are right now. It's why we are stronger than others, why I don't give a damn what anyone believes you or I are. We forged this together, faster and stronger than even Merlin and Arthur themselves." His voice was almost rough now, emotions bleeding into every word. John was absolutely open. "I have you and won't let you go. You are mine. All of you. Never to be shared. You’re mine and you belong to me. I can feel it in your magic, how you mirror it. I can feel you, Harry. I want you and I want this."

Dresden stood still for a long moment, processing the possessive, protective and so soul-deep words. He stared into John's eyes and Marcone let him read whatever he was looking for. Finally he curled his fingers into John's lapels and drew him into a hard, needy kiss. Marcone didn't fight it, went with the flow, and the magical energy licked all over them, surrounded them, barely visible but so sensitive and real. He held on to Harry's hips, let his hands slide over them, along his sides, to his back.

Yes, they might have done this in a too complicated fashion, but that was Harry Dresden, Wizard for Hire, for you.

*

Sometimes it just didn’t pay to get up. Be it in the morning or the late afternoon, or even at night when he had slept the day.

No, it didn’t pay off.

Then there were days when the crappy morning turned into a really interesting afternoon. Or night.

The sound of explosions tore through the darkness, orange balls of fire blooming within the large, abandoned warehouse and blowing out the smeared, grimy windows. Shards rained down onto the streets, bouncing off the gleaming concrete.

Rain pounded onto the pavement, drowning the noise a little, dousing the dark figures moving quickly into the warehouse. Thunder rumbled in the distance, lightning followed bright and hot against the black sky.

Shots fired sounded.

There were howls and screams that finally turned into whelps and then silence.

It was over within an hour. The noise had died down abruptly, a few shadowy shapes running away, only to be brought down by those waiting outside; waiting patiently for anyone making a run for it.

“Runners down,” the watcher on the roof said softly into the mic.

“Affirmative,” came the reply.

Inside the warehouse, blood stained the ground. Various bodies lay around, none of them human. The humans who had been collaborating with the supernatural elements intent on setting up their own operation in Chicago were unconscious or barely conscious.

A heavily armed black-clad figure walked slowly among the bodies, checking for signs of life. John Marcone looked over to where a certain wizard looked through various boxes, pulling out bags filled with pills and powders.

"Do we have everything?" he asked calmly.

Harry nodded, face a mask of anger and barely contained disgust. The air around him felt wild and stormy, a tight coil of fierce energy still deep inside him. Marcone turned to the three men who were securing the area.

"Get them out of here."

The human scum was dragged off and would be left for the police.

"Your turn, Mr. Dresden," he said with a sharp smile.

"With pleasure," Harry muttered.

A fire burned within those dark eyes, dangerous and volatile and very, very lethal.

The warehouse explosion made it to the news and would later be ruled a gas leak and faulty wiring. It eradicated all trace and evidence, burning so hot and intense as only a magical fire could. One called forth by a wizard.

Of course, Murphy didn't believe a single word and grilled Harry until he caved and gave her the real deal behind it all.

"I hate drug runners," Harry muttered when he came home in the morning. It was already past sunrise, the world had woken up and was taking note of the explosion in the warehouse district. "The mundane and the faerie kind. Especially the latter. All those components are highly illegal in the wizarding world."

Marcone raised an eyebrow as he watched him. Like Dresden, he hadn't been to bed yet and he had already worked on rearranging his schedule for today, though important meetings would be attended. Thankfully, nothing on the agenda was absolutely important. A lot of paperwork and some emails, but no personal attendance was required.

There had been no casualties on his side and no one had more than a bruise or a scrape. Even Harry had come out of it without a scratch, which was remarkable all by itself.

"Which makes them all the more desirable and probably potent."

It got him a glare. Harry balled his hands into fists, jaw so tightly clenched, Marcone feared he might crack a molar. "Of course they are desirable! Dragon's blood? Do you have any idea what it takes to draw blood from an actual dragon?"

It had been what might be called a joint operation. There had been rumors about drugs flooding into the city, from a source that wasn't controlled or approved by Marcone, and then the magical component had popped up. A supernatural angle that brought in Harry, who had been far from pleased with either. Drugs were bad enough, but faeries made things complicated, dangerous and potentially explosive in the end.

Well, yeah, he had blown up stuff and set the rest on fire.

"It might have been attained legally," Marcone remarked wryly.

It got him a grimace. "Yeah, right. I've only ever met one dragon and I don't want to do so again. Same goes for some of the other stuff."

John watched the other man, the lithe lines, the tension tightening muscles and playing across his skin like a shadow. He let Harry pace, let him rant, mutter and glare at whatever got in his way. Yes, the runners had been dealing with a lot of exotic parts, powders and fluids. According to Harry there had been body parts and pieces of various creatures, not just blood. And Marcone knew that to attain body parts meant death or mutilation.

"Harry," he finally said quietly. Calm and cool and dark.

Dresden stopped and blinked. He looked both wired and exhausted.

"We got them. They are dead and their mortal associates will spend a long time behind bars. You also tore down some prime real estate in the process, which enables me to rebuild and renovate." He smirked. "Cheaply, I have to say. You did most of the work."

It got him a snort, but Harry plopped down on the couch. "Happy to help," he grumbled.

Marcone chuckled and joined him. He leaned forward and, after a moment of giving Harry the chance to stop him, kissed him. Harry responded after a second, then grew a little more enthusiastic. It was slow, it was intense, it was wonderful, and it was them.

No hurry.

Marcone felt the tight knot of magical energy within Harry, an energy that was both terrifying and fascinating in one. It expanded, enveloped them, the wizard still very high strung and full of adrenaline and anger.

Chicago was safe again. The upstarts had been erased, as had been their little business. All in a night's work.

"We might have done one of the Courts a favor, too," John murmured with a grin.

Dresden snorted inelegantly. The magic was still licking around him. "I wouldn't bet on finding a link to either Court."

"It was warning enough. A statement of force and power."

He grunted.

"Your power, Mr. Dresden. A lot of it." He pushed the other man back and straddled him, lips twisting into a hungry smile.

"You are a kinky bastard, Marcone."

"I don't see you protesting." The voice was rough, slightly jagged at the edge, and slightly more sensual than before.

The next kiss was more intense, almost overpowering in its strength, and John fought back as good as he got. It was like a small war for dominance and suddenly Harry relented, almost surrendering.

Making out with a wizard who was still radiating magic like Harry did, who was still furious about what had happened, what he had had to fight against and what he had done, made for an adventure that John enjoyed a lot. He knew they wouldn't be disturbed for a while, that Gard and Hendricks were handling everything else that might come up.

Marcone was taking care of his partner, who needed to blow off some steam after the whole operation. And John was very much on board with how to accomplish that.

"Breakfast?" Marcone asked as he ran gentle, calming caresses over the warm skin.

Harry hummed, sounding interested. He usually was when it came to food. "I'd be in," he mumbled.

John pressed a kiss against one shoulder and got up, smiling down at the so relaxed looking, very much naked wizard.

"Shower, then we'll see about feeding you, Mr. Dresden. After last night's fireworks I suspect you'll eat half the menu."

Harry grinned, pushing himself up on his elbows. "You're buying?"

"Wouldn't want your broke ass to cover breakfast bills."

"Hey!"

Marcone chuckled. "I always pay for services rendered. In your case that payment is in food. I should add hazard pay, but blowing up my properties seems to be just another day for you."

Harry grimaced. But he got up and headed for the shower, still absolutely and unashamedly naked, much to Marcone's enjoyment.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All stories come to an end and this chapter is just that: the final one. I so very much loved writing in this fandom and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the wonderful comments and feedback! I love you all for the support and enthusiasm was another one of my brain farts!
> 
> I hope you enjoy the last chapter!

The White Council took its time and it more or less actively ignored the existence of one Harry Dresden as their warden for a very long time. Harry expected the hammer to fall any given day, but there was nothing. Not even a slap on the wrist when he stirred up more trouble than the Council was comfortable with.

Tumbleweed and crickets.

Two years into their partnership and not a peep. Morgan kept a really low profile and while Harry did some heavy magic sometimes, ran into trouble with the supernatural and took out some insane sorcerers twice in that time, nothing happened. No one, not even Ebe, wagged their fingers at him. Or summoned him to Edinburgh.

Nothing.

It was eerie and had him more on edge than the Doom of Damocles had ever managed. It was a false peace, one of waiting, watching, more waiting, carefully probing, and finally…

A written note.

On white stationary that could be found at every corner store.

Not even a personal visit.

"You terrify them," Bob commented gleefully. "Anyone else gets either a call to the Dungeons of Dusty Despair or a personal visit from someone with a big sword and the threat of a beheading. You get a note. Almost a post-it. They are wetting their robes, boss, I tell ya!"

The envelope with the letter had been delivered by courier to Executive Priority, addressed to Wizard Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, which was a huge red flag to begin with.

They had sent it to one of Marcone's holdings!

Not Dresden's office, not his old apartment, not delivered while he was out and about.

One of John's places.

And Marcone had in turn delivered it to Harry. He hadn't taken it with him to the townhouse, simply dropped it off in the PI office with a pointed look. Hendricks was outside, waiting in the dark limousine

"They know about us."

"Of course." Dark brows rose. "Considering how quiet everything was in regards to White Council presence in your or my life, it was to be expected."

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Bob lamented. "Sometimes I weep for this new generation of wizards! They always knew what you harbored, boss! They actively tried to not have you access your full potential. I'm just surprised it didn't take them so much longer, actually." The last was said with a shrewd look at Marcone.

Marcone's expression said he agreed with the skull's deduction and he looked rather pleased about it.

The note was brief and to the point. Harry Dresden, wizard, would retain his position as warden.

"Because it suits them," John interpreted. "To have you as their executive power."

Harry grimaced.

Then he stared at the words in disbelief.

"Stars and Stones…" he murmured. "That's… that can't be real! They can't be serious!"

"Sounds very serious to me."

The letter stated he would not fall under any regional commander's or the captain's dominion. He had the status of a special agent, working within his own council and liable to only the Lord of the area he had been assigned to. Permanently assigned to. It should read like a demotion, kicked down the evolutionary ladder of wardens worldwide, but it didn't feel like it. It felt like he had just been set free of all restraints. The White Council hadn't given him the boot, but they had also renounced all ties or any kind of responsibility when it came to one Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. Whatever he did from now on, they weren't liable. Nor would it fall back upon them.

There was a devilish glint in Marcone's eyes and the slow smile was both unhallowed and pleased. There was an almost flirtatious edge to it, something that pinged on Harry's libido and he fought his reaction to it.

"Forget it, Marcone! I'm not working for you," he grumbled, just because. And because he could be so easily baited, damnit!

"You are. More or less. You are their emissary, Harry. To me."

Bob snickered. "Ambassador Harry Dresden! Boss doesn't have a diplomatic bone in his body!" He howled in laughter. "Oh, this is so, so good!"

"Hammer, Bob. Big sledge-hammer!"

The skull was rocking left and right, still laughing manically. He nearly tipped over. Dresden ignored him and directed his warning look at Marcone.

"If you think I'm going to be one of your enforcers, scrap that idea right now!" It got him a laugh. Harry swatted at the other man. "Jackass!"

"They more or less shoved you off to work on your own and they really washed their hands of your actions from here on out," Bob said, sounding pleased. He was still rocking back and forth, giggling now and then. "I knew they would chicken out!"

Yes, that was more or less his status now. Not a rogue, not declared dark, still a wizard and warden of the White Council, but assigned to the Freehold of Chicago and its Baron. Indefinitely. Actually not much a loan, more like promoting him to get rid of a meddlesome wizard. It gave him a lot more freedom to work as he did, without looking over his shoulder in case someone tried to lop his head off for a perceived transgression. He fell under Marcone's jurisdiction; completely.

Chicago had effectively become a much greater power than before, elevated by the presence of an emissary who was outside Council control but not rogue, and the equal partner of a Freeholding Lord. From Marcone's expression, he knew it and he had played for it.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Did you do this?"

"While I might have had an idea to the effect, I did not contact any of the Senior Council," John said smoothly. "Suggestions might have been made through third parties."

He gaped at him. "You strong-armed the Senior Council into this?!"

"That is a rather inept description of events."

"Damnit, John! What would you call it then? Blackmail? Bribery? Veiled threats that sound like compliments and suggestions?"

Marcone gave him that CEO smile. "An offer was made to an interested party to take a problem off their hands, clearing them of all accusations in connection with that aforementioned problem. A simple contract."

"You bought me?!" Harry exclaimed. "And I'm not a problem!"

"The Council begs to differ. You hold your own category of problematic wizards, Mr. Dresden."

Bob was howling with laughter, tipping over his skull this time. Marcone reached over and righted him again.

"And no, I didn't buy you. I ensured you are free of any Doom or warden oversight. You are only liable to the Freehold of Chicago, which is mine and cannot be transferred to anyone's power even through my absence. You are no more indebted or beholden to me than I am to you as your anchor and shield. Your servitude is not bound to payment in any form or currency. You are an unconditional emissary, a special agent, with the full power at your command to protect our city."

Harry's mind whirled, the possibilities endless, the freedom… he had never been this free. He knew what this meant. He knew it gave John all power, sure, but also all responsibility for each and every action of one Harry Dresden. Harry in turn only had to report back to him, would have only this ne responsibility, though it was an immense one. He was representing John Marcone, the Baron. Actually, he was this Baron's partner… significant other… whatever… well, Harry Dresden was John Marcone's wizard.

Something inside him unfurled and it wasn't raging against the proprietary word. It was actually quite… okay with it all.

"John…"

"You were mine since the day we met, Harry Dresden," John told him with a patient look. "I refused to accept anyone's hold on you. Your debt to the Leanansidhe's, to Winter; the power of command the Council has over you. Nothing of this surpasses my claim and your connection to me. I hated the very idea of those people having anything on you."

Harry shivered and he looked into the burning eyes. "You're insane," he whispered. "Do you know what you did?"

"Yes."

Of course he did. He was John Marcone. He never half-assed anything, unlike a certain wizard.

"Nothing changes," Marcone continued. "You operate as before."

"No daily reports?" Harry quipped.

"Your typing is atrocious."

"You should see his chicken scrawl," Bob threw in.

"Shut up, Bob," Dresden growled.

"Harry." Marcone's voice was serious all of a sudden. "Nothing has changed," he repeated, voice low and intense. "You are not my enforcer or employee, but you are also not under the White Council's eyes anymore. Transferring the liability to me was their only way to wash their hands of any of your future actions in case it comes to confrontations with Faerie over you. Or anyone else."

"But I work for you now," he grumbled, just for good measure and good old times.

"With me. And I work with you." Marcone leaned back, smiling calmly. "Nothing has changed," he repeated.

"Except for everything?"

It got him a lazy shrug.

"You established yourself as an island realm within the mortal world, John! Everyone already calls it a Protectorate! That's halfway to neutral territory!"

"Possibly."

"But… Do you have any idea what this means?"

"Yes. I do."

He stared at him. "Do you? Really? Because there's a really good reason why we see all the supernatural shit that comes down on this city."

"Because Chicago is a crossroads both physical and metaphysical with ley lines having dozens of confluences that either run through town or nearby," John said with an unbecoming smirk. "I do listen to you, Harry. And I've sat through too many Accords meetings that discussed all of that. As a mortal Freeholding Lord you get to hear the whole ley lines part again and again. Some people don't like who and what I am, that this powerful crossroads is mine. I am very much aware that the Great Lakes region has a lot of ley line activity, which is both a blessing and a curse magically speaking."

Harry swallowed, feeling the jittery magic hum all around him. Of course Marcone knew. Of course! And he was building a semi-neural fortress over those crossroads, had already set himself up as the Baron of the region, which would soon encompass the Great Lakes region itself for sure.

Marcone rose and reached out to cup Harry's neck, squeezing gently. "Breathe. Calm down."

"This…"

"This is you and me now. Equals. Our territory. Remember what Marlin said."

"Hell's Bells…!"

Marcone just met his eyes, so very calm, a rock in the stormy see that was Harry's emotional response. Cool, perfectly under control, easing the strain on his raw magic and keeping it from surging. Instead it spilled over into John, washing through him like a soft wave. The fierce protectiveness was there, almost palpable, intense and unwavering.

Bob's sockets flared as he watched the dance of blue and orange tendrils, weaving and twining around Marcone.

"Whoa," he murmured. "They really should wet their dusty old robes."

Harry blinked and the magic dissipated. John just smiled at him, calm and even-tempered, fingers sliding over the strong neck in a feather-light caress. Dresden leaned forward and brushed a kiss over the other man's lips, then rested his forehead against Marcone's.

"You're a crazy bastard," he whispered. "Certifiable!"

"No. I'm a business man, Harry. I run an organization. The city is my business. As I told you before, I make my decisions based on what is best for my city. And you."

His shield. Protective to an insane degree.

"I know what it means to be almost neutral, to have and to handle this much leverage and power. I am very much aware what your position as my emissary and liaison of the White Council entails. I wanted this, Harry. I wanted you and I wanted Chicago to be less of a battlefield and Faerie playground. What we have is a powder keg, but I control the fuse and I won't let it go up."

Okay. Wow. Really… Wow…

"I love you," he whispered.

Because that was all Harry could think of. How much he loved this man, how much he meant to him, because all of this was what Harry had seen in the man's soul so many years ago. This was John.

"I really, really love you, you crazy bastard."

Marcone's expression softened, the eyes so very green and intense. "You always had a way with words. Very romantic."

"You know me."

"Only too well."

Harry wrapped his arms around the hard-muscled form, their lips finding each other again. The kiss was brief, almost chaste. Soft and tender at first, tongues slowly exploring already well known territory, but discovering something new each time. The kiss became more, deeper and more fierce, until a more trivial need made them pull back to simply breathe again.

"Oh, don't mind me watching!" Bob crowed. "This is goooood. You're not just glowing there, boss. You're radiating like a sun!"

Dresden groaned and Marcone chuckled.

"Any other time I wouldn't mind continuing this discussion," he murmured, voice low and seductive. "Privately. In depth. Very much in detail, too. But I do have an important meeting in an hour. Mr. Hendricks will be here in ten to pick me up."

Harry stole another kiss. "I don't want to know."

"Regular business," Marcone teased, a glint in those green eyes.

Which could mean anything from control of weapons trafficking to donating a substantial amount to an art gallery or a children's hospital.

With a last kiss they separated and Marcone smoothed his not even rumpled looking suit.

True to his words, Hendricks was there ten minutes later.

Harry just scrubbed a hand over his face, standing in the room like he had lost his way and had no idea where he was. It was an apt description.

His eyes fell on the letter again. That plain but so very potent letter.

He had been given the boot, while still keeping his credentials, and now he was kind of a free agent, just that all his actions would be in accord to the Chicago territory and its weird new standing among the other realms. He really had to wrap his head around that.

"Wow," he murmured.

Bob only hummed.

It took a while to settle in.

Nothing had changed and yet everything was different than before.

Harry still worked his PI cases and he had the occasional consultant job with the PD. There were some altercations with practitioners who got in over their heads, which had all kinds of nasty things loose in Chicago. Still, it wasn't as bad as before.

The Red Court was gone, the Black Court's two survivors had disappeared, and the White Court was more or less keeping to themselves. Encounters with Lara Raith were far and few.

Thomas, on the other hand, loved to hang around. They had had a brotherly drinking game right after Harry had told him about the White Council's dismissal of him. Thomas had sounded as gleeful and cheery as Bob about it, claiming it was about time and they better watch their robed butts. Then he had proceeded to decimate Harry's beer and getting lots of pizza out of that night, too.

The White Council hadn't so much as sent a postcard after kicking him firmly into Marcone's territory and handing over responsibility of Harry's actions to the Baron of Chicago. Not even Ebe had called or paid him a visit. Harry in turn hadn't sought out his grandfather either.

Yes, Chicago had quieted down considerably and while Dresden didn't trust that calm, he also didn't feel like it was the calm before a massive storm.

Things were changing around them.

The city was now a Freeholding Protectorate, with a sentinel in form of a powerful wizard who was still growing into his abilities, who was bound to the lord of this Protectorate, and who still upheld the seven Laws of Magic. Harry Dresden felt quite protective of the City of Chicago and its inhabitants.

Baron John Marcone still had no intention to branch out. Chicago was his city. There had been no further attempts on his life or his businesses. And while so much had changed, while he was so much more powerful in the eyes of those who watched from a distance, Marcone didn't wield that power. He didn't make offensive moves, let matters run their course as long as nothing interfered with his city, and he made sure alliances and contracts were upheld. He simply made sure that his Hold was safe, defending when necessary.

Mundane crime was just as before. Some days were better, some worse, and Harry had his share of cases and even consultations. Supernatural elements did pop up, but so far it had been rather laid-back encounters, with a few more adventurous ones trying a thing to two. What had grown were the neutrals coming through and staying for a while. One or two had even openly approached Marcone and asked for temporary residence.

Harry looked out over the dark lake in front of him, felt the power in the ground, the air, the very core of the Hold. It hummed, touching his own magical core, caressing that mirror of power, and he had never felt so much in control and at peace. He no longer feared what he could unleash, was no longer terrified to reach for the elemental force and wield it. He knew his own magic fed what wove through the whole city, declared to anyone foolish enough to enter that there was a powerful guardian keeping watch. He inhaled the cold air, felt his magic whisper around him in response to the imprint his presence had already left.

Two years.

They had been connected for two years and already the imprint was there and going strong.

Merlin had said there would be interesting times ahead. Harry almost snorted. His whole life had been nothing but interesting times so far, though the best that had ever happened in that short life had been Marcone.

He started back toward where he had parked his car. It started faithfully for once and he headed toward the city, toward home, and toward the man who had given him all that and so much more; more than Harry could ever put into words.

The man he loved.


End file.
